Easy to Love
by Amusingly
Summary: When Oliver’s big mouth gets him into trouble, a good friend lends a hand.
1. Mistake

**Series: EASY TO LOVE** (Chapter 1: Mistake)  
**Pairing:** PW/OW  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warning:** none yet  
**Summary:** When Oliver's big mouth gets him into trouble, a good friend lends a hand.  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Co. are the property of JK Rowling and Warner Bros. No infringement on their copyright is intended.  
**Beta:** Many thanks to Nichol (alcoholicberry) for giving this part a beta :)

Though my original character Dave (The Assignment) appears in this story, please assume that Plum's class was never taken. This story is intended to stand on its own, as no part of another work.

Chapter One: Mistake

_Saturday, October 2nd  
Room 1118 at the Hilton, Hollywood CA_

When Oliver Wood signed to Puddlemere United, he knew press interviews and publicity tours were a necessary part of the professional sports world. He thought nothing of giving his agent freewill in his contract, his youthful concerns centered only on Quidditch, money and a future of indeterminable possibilities.

And yet – on sunny afternoons such as this one, Oliver would rather the freedom to fly for hours over Greater London than be tied to contractual obligations. Even life as a broom hobo seemed better during these few days, cooped up in a darkened hotel room and feeling miserable, hungry and bored beyond reason.

And on this afternoon, a light shone through the hotel door and Oliver, perched in a director's chair, watched wearily as a familiar, surreal reality played out in front of him.

_It was always the same thing_, he mused, watching detachedly.

Self-important camera crews and photographers burst through the doors, stationing themselves around the room. Wordlessly, they adjusted the light, his suit and – yes, even touching up his makeup according to current Hollywood standards. As a powder poof slapped his face, he awaited the next dramatic entrance – a reporter -always petite, always perky, would bellow a cheerful "Hell-O!" before making her appearance.

And then Oliver would silently pray for a quick death.

"Hell-O!"

He grimaced, looking past the make-up crew to the door as a woman with long blonde hair and a pink mini-robe sauntered inside. She flashed her pearly whites at the crew, her smile widening more as she set her sight on Oliver. Sharp green eyes held his gaze, even as she plunked down beside him and held out her hand, her knees pressed against Oliver's own.

"Cane. Candy Cane. A pleasure," she purred.

_You've got to be kidding me!_ Managing a small smile, Oliver reached out to grasp the hand lightly but Candy pulled away quickly. _Always the same,_ Oliver appraised her as he folded his arms protectively. Her shoulders were pressed back, her bosom out. The mini-robe hiked up a little for the camera.

"We're all set? And you are all set, Oliver? Great! Time to rock and roll, guys!" Candy hadn't waited for a reply, her eyes now trained on a smart-looking notebook that appeared in her lap at her silent will. "Anddddddddd action!"

The crew, obviously used to her antics, quickly moved behind the camera and focused on her with the same professional detachment as most 'Candy Canes' Oliver'd met.

With a flip of her blonde hair, Candy's smile deepened into the camera lens. "I'm Candy Cane, reporting for CQN, the Cable Quidditch Network. Today I'm sitting here with Oliver Wood, Keeper for Puddlemere United and the youngest – yes folks, the youngest player in that team's history, signing from Puddlemere's reserve after only one year!" Candy touched Oliver's leg. "'Bout four years ago now, wasn't it Oliver?"

"'Bout that, right." Oliver nodded, his arms remaining folded despite the urge to shoo her hand away. _Four years of experiencing the joys of meeting people like you, Candy._

"And how about that game last Sunday? Amazing!"

"Thank you, er- Candy. The team really came together in that final hour and when Henry Oak caught the snitch, we knew we had played a really good game. The team was--"

"Don't be modest, Ol," Candy gushed, patting his thigh as though lightly scolding a child. "It's not too often that a Keeper deflects that many goals in one game. Five hundred shots, was it?"

Oliver nodded again. _One shot is all it'd take again you._ "Something like that, yes."

"But everybody knows that by now. What I'm looking for Oliver is the real story. Who is Oliver Wood? What does he do in his spare time? You must lead such a glamorous life!"

Oliver raised his eyebrows at her skeptically. _Fast life? Ale after the game? Hours flying solo around the city. Yep, Wood leads the fast life all right._

When he didn't respond, Candy elaborated, waving her hands wildly. "What I mean is, you must have a wonderful girlfriend that understands all the pressures and commitment that professional Quidditch involves."

_Ah, yes._

Oliver resisted a chuckle, realizing this woman was the reporter he'd been waiting for all day. In his short Quidditch career, he soon learned that there was always one interviewer more interested in his 'fan-girl' appeal than his athletic ability. Knowing the effort would be futile, he tried anyways: "Candy, I do try to keep my personal life separate from Quidditch."

Candy leaned forward, resting her chin on her fist in a thoughtful pose. "Must be difficult."

"No, no," Oliver gave a short laugh. "What I mean is, I try to keep my private life out of public affaires. So if you wouldn't mind, could we talk about something else instead?"

"But Oliver," Candy purred once more, her green eyes darkening. "Your fans want to know everything about you! Don't they deserve to know the real Oliver Wood, Keeper Extraordinaire?"

"No," he replied bluntly, annoyance creeping into his tone. "The real Oliver Wood is the same one that's out there on the field, playing Quidditch. If anyone wants to know me, all they have to do is watch Puddlemere United."

"But really, Oliver," Candy's voice assumed a child's drawl. "Isn't it true that you'll be on the cover of Quidditch Fan Weekly next week, voted Sexiest Quidditch Player of the Year?"

_How did she know- damn!_ Oliver sighed, trying to summon any patience left in him. "Aye. My agent's told me that I was chosen for that honor, and the fact that my contribution to the game--"

"And so you're going to deny your adoring public, the ones who voted to put you on the cover of Quidditch Fan Weekly, the ones that purchase your Quidditch merchandise and who attend Puddlemere's games - deny them the chance to discover the man behind the broom?"

"Candy, I appreciate all that my fans have done to--"

"Then why, pray tell, do you insist on denying them the chance to get to know the real you? Do you have a girlfriend? Is this why you're so private?"

Oliver slowly massaged his forehead. It'd be different if Candy were his first interview rather than the last. He couldn't just repeat the sports stats and game talk like usual. Oh no, this interview required him to actually think and react **in public** to something he didn't even like to think about privately.

Candy's fingernails tapped impatiently on her closed green notebook.

Oliver wanted a drink. An ale, scotch, or even tea – yes, he could take a nice hot mug of Darjeeling right now. Sitting around a small restaurant with his teammates, talking about reporters like Miss Cane.

_If only the guys were around--_

As though controlled solely by Oliver's will, the hotel door clicked open and two of his teammates - his best mates, Dave Sharp and Henry Oak, entered. The smaller, more energetic of the two, Dave, gave him a big wave and, pointing to Candy, made a face. Henry nudged him to remain silent.

_Ah, it would seem I'm not the only one to encounter such tragic circumstances._

Candy cleared her throat. "Mr. Wood, I'm not looking for a list of how many notches are on your broomstick" (he winced at this suggestion) "but you have a responsibility to my listeners, your fan base, to share this information. Now, call it female intuition or something but I get the feeling that you have a special someone at home. Some lucky girl, eh?"

_That is it, that is it!_

Pushed to his limit, Oliver's hands balled into fists and he opened his mouth to deliver what he'd hope to be the final words of Candy's sports reporting career.

But from the corner of the room, he heard Dave say instead:

"That's a hole in one, Candy. You are absolutely right – Oliver does have a special someone. How do you know these things?"

Oliver groaned. _Not the time for jokes, guys._ Candy swiveled in her seat, frantically motioning for his friends _(ex-friends)_ to join the interview set. Hands still fisted, he watched as his teammates, cheeky grins and all, were fitted with microphones and doused with make-up. Both avoided looking directly at Oliver, instead looking at Candy with intense interest.

_What did I ever do to these guys, anyway? Well, the question is more like: What will I do to these guys if I actually survive this interview?_

Oliver put both hands behind his head, rolling it around to loosen the tension.

Everyone seated, Candy pointed a finger at the camera and said, "Anddddddd action!" Leaning forward, she rested a hand on each of Oliver's teammates' knees. "Dave Sharp and Henry Oak, the newest team members to Puddlemere United, have joined our interview. As two of Oliver's closest friends, you two must know a lot about his private life. You guys really are great friends, right?"

"Absolutely," Henry grinned at her.

"The best," Dave replied with a preteen girl's solemn look, crossing his heart as he looked into the camera with mock sincerity.

"BFF?" Candy asked quickly.

"Totally," Henry replied. Oliver had no idea was 'BFF' was, exactly, but it couldn't be good if his American teammate was agreeing to it.

"OK, boys. Let's share the dish on Oliver. All of his fans, and yours, are dying to know about his private life."

"To which they should," Dave replied seriously, crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly in his lap.

Candy's bosom was heaving hard, and Oliver was certain the top buttons on her tight mini-robe would burst any second. "So, there is someone in his life?"

"Of course."

"A very special someone. The envy of all his teammates, actually."

"We all just adore them together."

"So, to answer your question, Candy, yes. Oliver has a fantastic **boyfriend** at home."

_Dave didn't just--_ Oliver felt faint.

The reporter's eyes danced. Christmas had come early for this Candy Cane.

"I wish he was my boyfriend," Henry added wistfully.

Now was the time for Oliver to die. Or for his teammates to die. _Yes, that's more like it,_ he reasoned.

"You're gay, too, aren't you?" Candy asked, pointing her quill at Henry.

"Yes," Henry answered. _About the only thing truthful he said this afternoon,_ Oliver thought bitterly, his heart still beating fast. Henry was gay – as were others in professional Quidditch. There was little tolerance in the wizarding world of homophobia. "Actually, I probably influenced him."

"And what do you think of your best friends both being gay, Dave?"

Oliver saw Dave nudge Henry. "Well, Candy, I'll tell you. Oliver has such a great boyfriend that –hell, I wish he were my boyfriend! Except, you know, for my whole heterosexuality thing."

"Yes, that's makes dating a man difficult," said Henry seriously.

Oliver kicked off his shoes, dropping them to the floor with a thud. _This has to be some stupid joke. A setup. Maybe the entire interview is a put on._

Candy turned to him. "Tell me all about your boyfriend, Mr. Wood, I'd love to have your input with this. Hang on a 'mo, boys, I'm just going to touch my make-up and have the film changed."

She motioned to the make-up crew, who immediately swarmed around her.

Oliver took this opportunity to lean into his friends and hiss, "You're both going to die. I'm just not sure which one first."

Dave laughed, finally turning to face him. "Relax, Ol. We're just having a little fun. She's an idiot, and her crew's just as nuts."

Oliver was aware just how 'nuts' Candy Cane was, but that wasn't the issue right now: "Dave. Fix. This. Now."

Henry leaned back and, his arm crossing Dave's shoulders, he reached two fingers on the back of Oliver's neck, rubbing slowly. "Hey, loosen up. You're as tense as anything. Besides, look at the camera. See the faint orange aura?"

Oliver shrugged his shoulders, thowing off his touch, before squinting at the camera. "Kind of. But what--"

"Dave charmed the camera so it won't record. All the cameras, actually."

"Won't record?"

"Won't record," Dave confirmed, smiling smugly. "Come on, have a little fun with us. She spent two hours harping on my relationships since Karen left. And poor Henry here..."

"He's right, Ol," Henry shook his head. "She wanted to know how I ranked our male teammates, according to what I've seen in the showers. If-you-get-my-drift."

"We tied for first," Dave joked to Oliver in a stage whisper.

"You two wish," Henry gave him a playful punch before asking: "So, how 'bout it, Wood? Let's have a little fun at her expense."

"Besides, it could be fun pretending you actually have a social life," Dave smirked.

"I hate you both," Oliver started, unable to keep a grin away. He ignored the feeling of foreboding in his stomach and consented: "Fine, fine, I'll do it. But you're paying for drinks afterwards."

Candy cleared her throat, reasserting her presence amongst the men. "All set, boys? Let's talk! Takeee three." She pushed her lips together, now reddened and enlarged by the miracle of wizard makeup products. "Let's all hear about the mystery man that has stolen your heart, Oliver."

Oliver sighed and paused, thinking, until Dave delivered a sharp nudge. He spat out, "Er- he's a great guy. I, um, I really like him a lot."

"Oh?" Candy asked, her eyes wide with interest.

"He's dreamy," Henry sighed deeply.

"He's got wavy hair," Dave chimed in, hands folded in his lap again.

_Walk like the animals, talk like the animals..._ "Wavy and thick red hair," Oliver corrected, trying to resist chuckling at the guys. Perhaps they were right – Candy was getting exactly what she, and reporters like her, deserved.

"And?" Candy prompted, her fingernails still tapping.

"And blue eyes," Oliver added, slowly, "like – like the magnificent waters off the shores of Glasgow!"

He heard Dave swallowed a chuckle. "He's a really fun guy. Hmm... Height-wise, he's about--"

"Tall," Oliver interrupted, aware he was enjoying himself far too much. His pretend life was starting to sound much better than his real one. "Perhaps just an inch or two taller than I am, and I stand at over six feet myself."

"He doesn't play Quidditch, no," Henry added, not wanting to be left out of the charade. "But--"

"That's right, he's no good on a broom at all," Oliver chuckled, interrupting once more. "Thin, really. An intellectual type. We leave each other to our own interests."

"What's his family like?"

"Big. He's a family guy." Oliver unfolded his arms, feeling the tension leave his body. He was having a great time. "There I go again, highlighting how we're opposites. I'm an only child, so I really enjoy being around his family."

"I hate to ask this question," Candy started, "but do you each have your own 'roles' in the relationship? Like, is someone more feminine?"

Henry burst out laughing.

Oliver spoke over him. "No, we'd rather not be categorized as such. We're each strong men in our own capacity."

"Like?"

_Like what? I wouldn't know how to answer this question in an actual relationship!_ Oliver took a deep breath, knowing the question itself was somewhat offensive but it was all part of the game. _Right?_ He spoke slowly: "Er- he's more likely to clean up, but I do the cooking. And sure, I'm into sports but he's more likely to take the initiative at putting things together. It balances out."

"He sounds so dreamy," Candy gushed. "What are some of the things you two do together?"

"They--"

"He--"

Once more Oliver ignored his friends' attempts at describing this fictional life. This invented life just seemed to come all too easily to him. "He loves a good book. Writing poetry or short fiction, reading it out loud to me. He's highly educated, intelligent; he just excels in everything he does. A bit shy and yet, also stubborn." Oliver laughed a little. "He has a fantastic personality that just makes me want to go out and grab--"

"His buns," Dave smirked.

"Life. Grab life," Oliver emphasized, trying to be serious. "Makes me want to learn things, do things I've never done before. Takes me out of this constant diet of all things Quidditch, and into his welcoming world of wonder and normalcy."

_Merlin, I'm good at this!_

"Is he a wizard, Oliver?"

"Yes," Oliver thought quickly. "But he loves the muggle lifestyle. Lives as such as much as he can."

"A real country fellow, eh?"

"That's my guy," Oliver finished, feeling quite satisfied. _A fun end to a horrible interview._

"That's wonderful." Candy held out her hand to Oliver. "Thank you so much for the interview. I wish you two only the best."

"No, thank you," Oliver said seriously, taking her hand in both of his. "I really appreciate this, Candy. I guess I was just waiting for the right person to bring it out of me."

With a small wave to Dave and Henry, Candy backed away to leave with her crew. The boys exchanged glances, shaking their heads and stifling their amusement until the room cleared.

Candy was the last to leave, with one foot out the door before turning around:

"Boys? I hope you all enjoy **hearing** the interview."

"Oh, we're all really looking forward to it," Dave joked. "Oliver and his guy will probably cuddle up, and--"

"Wait," Henry put a hand on Dave's shoulder. "Did you say _hear the interview_?"

"Of course," Candy replied cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe. "CQN is launching the first ever all-Quidditch radio network. We've been advertising it all month long. And after our interview today, Mr. Wood is set to be our first show ever. The network will probably want to launch early, and this interview is sure to be hot!"

As Oliver's heart dropped to his knees, he felt Henry's arm go around his waist to hold him up. He sputtered, "What? But there's a camera and a film and--"

"A camera," Dave swallowed audibly, wobbling to a nearby chair.

"And a film," Henry finished, the room then dissolving into an awkward silence.

"Of course," Candy shrugged. "If you only wanted to speak about stats and game predictions, the cable network would have wanted the tape. But I have the recorder right here." She held up her smart green notebook that, Oliver noticed upon looking closer, was indeed a flat voice recorder.

_No no no no!_

"Uh? Miss Cane? There's been--"

But Candy was still talking, lost in her own little world. "This has been the best interview of my entire two-month career." She clasped the recorder with both hands in front of her chest. "Tootles, boys!"

And with the fastest executed Apparition Oliver ever seen, she disappeared.

No one looked at each other. After a minute past, Dave walked over to the curtains and opened them, letting in the harsh red light of a Hollywood sunset.

Henry spoke first. "Don't panic, Oliver."

"Oh, I'm not panicking," Oliver said, his tone slight elevated, his hands shaking. _Don't panic? Don't FREAKIN panic?_

"Seriously Ol, it's not that bad," Dave started, cut off when he noticed Oliver advancing towards him. Henry caught the collar of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

The three men stared at each other in silence, but questions were running wild in Oliver's head: _What just happened here – Oh, Merlin! My parents! What will my friends, my teammates, say when they think I've had this serious relationship all along? And that I've kept it from them? When they find out I've lied on the first interview, ever, for Quidditch radio? The fallout will be huge... Merlin! My agent's going to kill me._

And then:

Oliver suddenly burst into laughter. It was funny, really. Hilarious. They had pranked a Hollywood reporter and she'd gotten the better of them. _Something to tell the grandkids, this one._

He felt arms wrap around his shoulders. Dave, judging by the height (or lack of it), was steering him towards the doorway and distantly he could hear the words:

"Poor boy got a shock. He's right clammy, and he won't stop shaking. Henry, if there was ever a time for a Scotsman and a bottle of whiskey to meet up..."

_Two Hours Later (Evening)  
A Quidditch-themed Bar, Quite-A-Many Miles from the Hilton_

"No need worrying about it," Henry was saying, leading him into the bar and through the tables until they were at the back. "We'll pay Miss Candy Cane a little visit and tell her it was a joke."

Numbed, Oliver was shoved into a booth, himself barely aware of the surroundings. They'd searched the city for any trace of a Hollywood CQN-affiliate, to no avail, finally stopping at a bar for further brainstorming.

Here, the photographs of famous Quidditch players, the flying-snitch themed tablecloths, the broom paraphernalia lining the walls – Oliver didn't notice anything or anyone. In truth, the place was packed (always was) but he couldn't, wouldn't, hear the chatter around him, only interested in quieting his heartbeat, quelling his thoughts. And stifling the urge to attack Dave and Henry for getting him into this mess.

"Can we get three? Over here! Can we get three..." Henry held up three fingers towards the bar and receiving a nod, settled in across from Oliver. "Look, do we know when CQN's launching? Perhaps we can break into Candy's office. You know, steal her tape recorder or something."

"Interesting idea, **Harry Potter**. But that's not exactly practical," Dave said harshly, sarcastically, before growing quiet.

Three large, foamy glasses of beer were eventually placed on the table, and each man took a long drink.

After a pause, Dave muttered, "When we were just walking in now... I heard someone say that CQN radio launched an hour ago."

"You mean..." Oliver trailed off, staring at the golden liquid through the glass.

"Your interview caused them to launch early, just as Candy said."

One hand on his mug, Oliver slowly lowered his head to the table. He knew that Dave and Henry, good friends that that were (_occasionally,_ he added silently) were probably exchanging worried glances, trying to communicate silently how to help him through this. But he didn't want help – no, he wanted to be left alone. To wallow. To get drunk. And then prepare to hang up his broom forever.

"Hey hey hey. Look who's here!"

Oliver raised his head in time to see several of his teammates, having finished their own press obligations, saunter over to his table with filled glasses in hand.

"How the hell did they find us here?" Henry muttered, putting on a false smile.

"Oliver, buddy! You never told us you were involved with someone!" boomed Greg Smith, Puddlemere's captain, as he approached the table. He pointed a finger at Oliver, winking. "I never thought you to be one for the ladies, anyhow."

"Could have told me that, G," Lizzie Charles said from behind him. She too winked at Oliver, giving him a teasing smile. "Ollie, I ought to be mad at you. Wasting my charms."

"Ha," Oliver said, forcing his teeth to clamp together in an attempt to appear jovial. "Sorry 'bout that, Liz. Erm. I'm guessing they aired the interview?"

"Yep," Larry Sullivan said, sliding into the booth beside Henry. His large build made him one of the best-known beaters in the British league. "So why didn't you tell us? You know we don't care whether you're gay or not." Never one known for tact, Larry pointed to Henry to illustrate his point.

Henry rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Lar. Guys, its Oliver's business whether or not he wants to share his private life."

"He did share it," Greg pointed out. "With everyone except us. And you two knew all along!"

Lizzie set her mug on the table, crossing her arms. "Ol, what about all those times I said I was trying to set you up? Why didn't you tell me you were involved? With a guy!"

"Well," Oliver drew out slowly. The sudden confrontation was akin to swimming in ice-cold water after an intense practice. Losing his teammates' respect, friendship, was one of his worse fears. "You guys know, I always try to keep my private life separate from Quidditch."

"Same old line," Lizzie muttered, throwing up her hands and looking at the other teammates. "Why didn't he tell us this before? It was embarrassing to learn about it here, in the _United States_ of all places!"

"Today," Dave started, looking pointedly at Oliver with a twinkle in his eye that seemed to indicate: idea. Which in turn usually indicated: trouble. "Today... Er-Today, Oliver's relationship was threatened to be exposed. In a negative light. So he turned to Henry and myself to..."

"To help him. Come clean with it on his terms. You know, to save face before the tabloids get the story," Henry finished with a slight flush to his face.

Oliver closed his eyes. He loved his best friends, he really did, but they were the most transparent men he'd ever met. _I'm just going to quit the team now. Live life out of my parents' basement. That's not so bad. Dave and Henry will visit when the team's in town. Mom's a great cook. And hey – I won't have to do laundry anymore._

"You're kidding!" Larry said, eyes wide. "That's horrible! I don't know where some people get off, going into peoples lives and--"

Greg interrupted. "That was quick thinking, Ol. Good job."

"You might have just saved your career. Look at the old story of Stinky Jones," Lizzie added solemnly.

Oliver opened his eyes. _Could this be true--_ Could his teammates have bought that pathetic story?

"Why do you look so worried, Ol?" Laney Curt, a chaser, patted his shoulder from behind the booth. "It's all out now. We understand why you kept it quiet. We all have private lives that we like to keep out of the Quidditch mainstream"

Murmurs of agreement were exchanged.

"It's a good thing Henry and Dave were there to see you through," Larry added, taking another gulp.

To Oliver's relief, both men had the decency not to blush at the compliment.

"But it's not going to end now, Oliver," Lizzie warned, though her expression was soft. She took up her mug, taking a final swig, before: "You'll be tabloid fodder and part of sports news commentaries for weeks now. You're agent's either going to kiss you or kill you for announcing it the way you did."

"Don't worry about it, Ol," Greg motioned with his hand as though to wave the problem away. The motion set his beer swinging onto the floor, unbeknownst to him.

Larry pursed his lips thoughtfully, eying the puddle of wasted beer. "What I want to know is, since this is all out in the open now, when do we get to meet the guy?"

Choruses of "Yeah!" and "Hell, yes!" rang around Oliver, and he felt his cheeks blush at the sudden attention. He was a quiet guy by nature, earning his friendships through hard work on the pitch and loyalty to his teammates. And here they were, forgiving him for never mentioning this part of his private life and also wanting to meet his mystery man.

_Which I don't have,_ he reminded himself firmly. His heart sped up and he swallowed hard, his eyes returning to the half-drunk golden beverage in front of him. If anything, Mrs. Wood raised an honest man, and he certainly didn't want to be the guy that got caught in a jumble of lies.

No, he wasn't going along with this charade any longer.

But just as Oliver opened his mouth to finally set the story right, he caught the eager, interested faces of his teammates, his friends. These men who supported him, believed in him, since he was a seventeen year old kid on the Reserve. And who were so willing to forgive him even when they believed he'd lied to them about a steady boyfriend.

Oliver cleared his throat. "Thanks, guys. I'm sorry about the mess I've caused. It's just," Oliver motioned to his chest, knowing that he had to (at least) appear sincere. "It's just that everything is all so new to me. I don't want to mess things up, not for you guys and not for" (gulp) "my boyfriend."

From the corner of his eye, he watched Dave and Henry exchange glances. But all the other teammates' eyes were trained on him, sympathetic and understanding.

The group parted, each patting Oliver's shoulder or shaking his hand (or in Larry's case, giving a hearty slap on the back). Everyone left in good cheer but not without Greg asking again:

"So, we can meet the guy now, right? You're not keeping him in a box someplace? Mr. Invisible and all that?"

Oliver gave a nervous laugh. "No, no. I'd love for you all to meet him. Er – when we get home, that is. He lives in England."

"British too, eh?" said Lizzie with amusement. Like Henry, she was recently traded to Puddlemere from the American league team, the Sweetwater All-Stars. "This guy just sounds fantastic!"

"Yeah, watch out or Dave's 'heterosexuality' might just cave to him," Larry laughed, having used air-quotes. Dave launched towards him and each man shoved the other playfully. Oliver smiled, amused at the antics but also content that the interview hadn't only been embarrassing for himself.

"All for a good friend," Dave said loudly as the others parted. A waitress came over and quickly put a full pitcher of beer in front of them. The table now deserted of their teammates, Dave sighed and said, "You're welcome, Oliver!"

"I'm welcome?" Oliver said in disbelief. "I'm welcome? You – Now, I have to find – and you- and you-"

"It's not that bad, Ol," Henry said again. "You have this huge fight with your pretend boyfriend and ta-da! There's no more relationship."

"Can't," Dave interrupted, looking sternly at him. "The press will be relentless at finding broken-hearted Lover Boy. Then they'll know. They'll find out. And Oliver, you hadn't a chance at saving face. I love the guys, I really do but you know Greg and Larry don't give up on grudges. Lizzie will be mad at you until you're dead and buried. Hell, she'd be the one to put you there!"

"They'll be mad at you, too," Henry pointed out in Oliver's defense.

Dave wrinkled his nose. "That's right. And they probably won't be too happy towards _the guy_ who claimed he's the one that influenced Oliver to be gay!"

"Damn. Forgot about that," Henry said quietly, sipping his refilled mug.

Oliver's hand banged the table's surface in frustration. "Guys! You're not helping! Merlin, Philbert's going to kill me," he muttered, thinking about the team's manager, Philbert Deverill. He shook his head – _one step at a time, Ol._ "We go back to Puddlemere tomorrow. Before the press gets to me, I have to find this perfect guy, convince him to participate in this charade and fool everyone into thinking that we're the latest, most engaging couple to come out of Great Britain."

"Not going to be easy," Henry said, shaking his head.

"I'm being sarcastic, Henry," Oliver muttered bitterly, then immediately regretted saying it. He hadn't meant to get mad at his best friends. They might have led him into this spot but he went willingly, no one forcing him to make up a romantic life. "What am I going to do?"

"That only thing you can do," Dave said quietly. "You've got to find a guy willing to go along with this."

"That's absurd." Oliver took a long drink. "There's no one out there. Not a real one, not a pretend one."

"No, it's not that bad, Ol," Henry started again, then lowered his head seeing Oliver's scowl. "It's just – well, the description of him. It's so specific. Wavy red hair. Tall but thin. Intellectual and--"

"I know someone," Dave muttered, a smile playing at his lips.

"Who?" Henry said accusingly. "I've never met anyone that--"

Dave held up a hand to silence him, looking at Oliver, whose hands still clutched the beer mug, knuckles white. "It's just... ever since the interview, even during the interview, I couldn't help but think that... well..."

"Spit it out, Sharp," Oliver growled.

"It sounds so much like Percy," Dave answered simply, biting his bottom lip.

"What?" Oliver asked.

"Who?" Henry asked.

"Actually, it sounds exactly like Percy." Dave set down his beer and crossed his arms, his smile quickly twisting into a cheeky grin.

_- - To Be Continued_


	2. Memo

(Thanks again, Nicole :) To everyone, sorry about the wait! See Chapter 1 for disclaimers.

Chapter Two: Memo

_Tuesday, October 5th (early morning)  
__Flat 3-B, Puddlemere Estates_

All Saturday night, as Dave and Henry discussed Candy Cane's interview and the pending media uproar, Oliver tried (without success) to drink himself into a stupor. No amount of alcohol – hell, no alcoholic combination, it seemed, erased the memory of the interview and the promises made to introduce his seemingly perfect (_seemingly real_) boyfriend. By early Sunday morning, his problems only grew with his hung overaches, and his best friends forced him from his booth, dragging him out of the bar and to the portkey home.

Though his teammates avoided him after their initial confrontation, indiscretion didn't last for long. For two days, Oliver lay on his couch, cocooned in his flat with the door locked and the blinds closed. He avoided knocks and shouts from the outside and the faces in his fireplace, as well as the wizard television and radio networks that camped on the building's doorstep. One lonely moment saw him flooing his mother only to undergo three hours of continuous scolding, having to hear about her son's 'serious' relationship on the radio. _In_ a hair salon. _With_ her hair in curlers. _Under_ the dryer. _Surrounded_ by people she'd known for ages. _Hurt_ they weren't told before. _Wondering_ why she was surprised.

Even by Tuesday morning, he remained sprawled over the living room couch on his stomach, his face buried in a stale-smelling cushion. Not that he smelled any better; since Oliver arrived home, he hadn't done much of anything except bemoan the situation to bare walls. He remained in his clothes from Saturday, his depression leading to a sudden aversion of water and soap. His suitcase still sat by the front door, unpacked. His bed wasn't slept in, preferring long nights of self-deprecation to the nightmares of his days to come. And he hadn't bothered to eat full meals, instead resorting to mugs of tea made with souring milk and lukewarm water from a broken kettle.

He wasn't an indoor person by nature and that was half the trouble, he knew. Oliver Wood never solved a problem staying indoors; no, he'd think best when high on a broom or playing a match, or even watching a local, amateur Quidditch game incognito. Just the fact that he couldn't open a window was making him stir crazy, and part of him wondered that if he were to see a mirror, would he see prison-pallor in place of his normally tanned complexion. And yet, despite his forced solitude, he'd be damned if he was going to turn on CQN – radio or television, for a distraction!

Just as he was reliving the interview for the eight-hundredth time, his face still buried in the cushion, the lock in his door turned and opened with a bang.

"What the…" Oliver muttered, turning his head slightly. A few moments passed before his eyes could adjust to the two shadowed figures in the doorway.

_Guess who_.

"Hey, Ol. You up for some visitors?" Dave said cheerfully.

Oliver groaned, turning his face back into the cushion. He heard the door shut, and Henry's heavy footsteps proceed into the kitchen. He felt Dave walk by him, leaning over the couch to look through the blinds at the crowds below. Now disturbed, the stale, musky air of his flat came at him.

"You've looked better," Dave remarked after a few moments. "As has your flat. Tell me, ole buddy. How do you expect to find a boyfriend with housekeeping skills such as these?"

Oliver turned his head once more, watching his friend sit down and cross his legs casually as he eyed the flat with distaste. "I'm not in the mood," he mumbled. "Why are you sitting? What's Henry doing? Why are you both here _at all_? Just get out."

Dave jerked a thumb towards the kitchen. "Henry is trying to find your flat under the mess. To answer your second question, we've come to see our good pal Oliver! Have you seen him?"

Oliver wasn't in the mood for cute. "Just leave me be. I'm fine. Thanks for stopping by. Get the door on the way out."

"Got the door on the way in, thanks. And you certainly look fine. Weren't you wearing that Saturday? And about this new cologne… You remember you live in a city, not a farm? Not in an actual barn? With an animal that requires his stall shoveled everyday?"

In the background, Oliver could make out the sound of dishes clanging, water running and – _Was that whistling?_

"Look," Dave continued, his tone serious. "Have you been watching CQN? No? Have you been speaking to anyone?"

"My mother."

"Yeah, me too," Dave paused, giving him a small smile. "Anyone else, by chance?"

Oliver deadpanned.

He continued, "You're quite the story."

"I'd imagine."

"Too bad that everything happened during PU's hiatus," the young, blond-haired man shrugged apologetically. "They've nothing else to talk about, it seems. It'll do wonders for your career, though."

"Uh-huh."

Henry came out of the kitchen swinging a dishtowel over his shoulder. He carried a teacup and saucer, and a plate of toast, placing them in front of Oliver. "Eat. One room down, an entire flat to go. Lord, Oliver. That smell!"

He left as quickly as he appeared, pausing only to pick up the unpacked suitcase before heading towards the bedroom.

"If Quidditch doesn't work out for Henry, I could find use of him," Dave mused. "Ol, you can't keep going on like this. It's not right. Not healthy. And besides, you can't avoid the press forever. Philbert's holding a meeting on Monday, and he wants you there. And you know just who he'll blame if you don't show up!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Henry and I've been talking things over, and we agree that there's only one person who--"

"I'm not calling Perce, David," Oliver said seriously, sitting up. _This is going too far. _He glared at his friend as he made his case. "Listen _very _carefully. This is how it'll go- I'll do another interview with Miss Cane. It's for the best - everyone will discover the truth eventually, and I'd rather it be from me. For the record,this is me _handling it_. I'm an _adult_, though I suppose you and Henry just don't get that, eh?"

Dave uncrossed his legs, leaning forward. He spoke quietly, with an uncommon resolve to his voice. "No, I suppose I don't understand. For every day that you 'handle it,' your friends are growing concerned and hurt. Your fans ask more questions. The tabloids are making up stories that are far beyond the imaginative capabilities of Henry and myself. And frankly, things have built to the point where I'm not sure you'll ever shake this interview, whether you tell the truth or put on an act. Sorry to bother you, Ol, in this very _adult _world you're shut up in. For some reason or other, I thought you might have shown some concern for you friends."

He wiped his palms on his pants, stood up and made his way towards the door.

_Damn him. _Oliver cleared his throat. "What do you mean, concern for my friends? You two are the reason I'm in this mess."

"And so are you," Dave turned around, raising an eyebrow. Oliver couldn't argue with him, he knew that he was responsible for his own actions. After all, didn't he just say he was an adult? "How do you think telling the truth will make Henry and I look? We're new to PU, we're still making a name for ourselves. And it won't be easy for him, not that he'd ever say anything to you. Do you think it's easy for a new American player to be accepted by the fans here? Tell me, Oliver. How many American wizards do you know well?"

"Well? Counting Lizzie, two. But Henry's a fantastic--"

"That doesn't matter!" Dave shook his head. He resumed his seat, his face taking on a concerned expression Oliver had rarely seen since Hogwarts. "You're not the only one who will be hurt by the truth coming forward. I'm sorry that we even tried to prank the reporter, I am. But we've got to move forward."

"There's no other way," Oliver answered quietly, shaking his head. He felt horrible, defeated; he spent the last few days sharing the blame with his friends without considering how they would also be affected by the truth.

"No, there's always another way," Dave pressed. "We were close friends with Percy at Hogwarts. Remember getting into trouble? Remember Percy covering for us?"

"Remember the lectures?" Oliver shot back, unable to hide a smile. He had only good memories of his schooldays, but they always reminded him of the responsibilities he'd forgotten in lieu of professional Quidditch. He took a breath, confessing, "I haven't spoken to him since graduation. I got a few cards but never answered them. I didn't know what to say, it always seemed to be put off until the next day until-- Besides, I think he's had a bit of trouble since…" He trailed off, uncertain what more to say.

Dave gave him a short, understanding nod. Through mutual friends, they'd heard about his fight with the family and his subsequent departure from the Ministry, being made 'an example' of the previous government's rule.

"I wouldn't even know where to find him. And after everything he's been through" Oliver said quietly. Not for the first time, he silently berated himself for not continuing his correspondence after Hogwarts. He closed his eyes and mumbled, "There was a time when the three of us were so close. What happened?"

"Talking about Percy?"

Both men looked up to see Henry walking into the living room, a basket of laundry under his arm. After a moment, Dave nodded.

The bulky American eyed Oliver carefully before saying, "Life gets in the way. People grow up, grow apart. It happens. Get over it. Ol, you feel guilty when the sun doesn't shine. Is this a British thing? Why aren't you eating yet?"

Shaking his head, he took out his wand and lit a few candles, illuminating the dark room before apparating away. With the laundry basket.

Dave began to laugh, as did Oliver who only just remembered the tea and toast in front of him. He reached forward for a piece and took a bite, feeling better than he had in days. But still the problem remained--

"I can't do this to the guy. He's been through too much, Dave." Oliver paused, sipped his (properly brewed) tea with relish. "And besides, what about Penelope? Are they still together? What kind of work is he doing? He's no doubt trying to get back on his feet now. And I won't put him in a position where he can lose everything again."

Dave shrugged, reaching over for a piece of toast. "Doesn't hurt to ask. Even just to see him again for lunch or something. Actually," he chewed thoughtfully, crossing his legs once more, "Perce might just see something we're missing. It wouldn't hurt to run this problem by him. As a friend," he added quickly.

_Run 'the problem' by him? _Oliver looked at Dave questionably. It wasn't a bad idea. But-- "For all I know, he's moved to America. I doubt he'd have gone back to the burrow."

Dave cleared his throat. "Er- I ran into Charlie Wesley a few months ago. Just before I signed. I think I might know where to reach him."

"You do?" Oliver asked doubtfully.

"Maybe," Dave said slowly, staring at the remaining piece of toast. "I could write to him. Perhaps we could invite him out to eat. Catch up on old times. And really, who's smarter than Percy? I'm sure he'd have a solution to this problem."

_Well, he just might, _Oliver mused. _But--_

A spark of fear inexplicably raced through him and, on instinct, he shook his head, setting down the teacup hard. "I can't, Dave."

"But we just--"

The loud crack announced Henry's presence, and they turned to see him standing with a basket of folded laundry. He took out his wand and flicked the clothes towards the bedroom, and then sat next to Dave with a sigh.

"What are we talking about _now_?"

Before Oliver could answer, Dave's temperament took a silly turn (as it often did around Henry) and he whined, "Oliver won't let me write to Percy. Even just to ask him to lunch. We could use another perspective on this situation anyways, right? _Right?_"

_Real subtle_, Oliver mused.

Dave sighed dramatically. "He's embarrassed that we haven't spoken since Hogwarts." _Tsk._

Henry folded his arms, addressing him as though Oliver weren't present. "It's not because he doesn't want to. And it's not because they haven't spoken since high school. He's embarrassed over the interview, and he doesn't want Percy to know he messed up."

"Oh?" Dave inquired, his eyebrows raised dramatically.

Oliver stifled a groan.

"And he's probably especially embarrassed the mystery boyfriend he described looks exactly like this Percy," Henry chanced a glance at Oliver. "That's what it is, isn't it?"

"Wha-- No! Just a coincidence! Lots of men look like that." Despite his strong objection, Oliver felt his face grow hot, and he quickly turned his attention back to his tea.

"When really, it was the only logical course," Henry continued, pacing his words. "You described a man that's almost the exact opposite of Dave and myself."

"No. Oh. Really? I did?" Oliver asked wearily.

The American nodded casually. "Yep. Of course it's just a bit of luck that you happened to share a bedroom together for seven years."

"Well, I can see that…"

Henry blinked at him. "Then why won't you even write him? Eh?" When Oliver didn't answer, he continued, "How about these beans – Percy's your friend, there's no reason he wouldn't be following your career. Would you rather he found out you lied on CQN? Or do you care enough about mending your past friendship to tell him the truth, face to face?"

Oliver stared at Henry in disbelief, trying to comprehend the information. He couldn't argue with such a reasonable case.

Dave piped up, "You know, Hogwarts is a big school. We were always with Percy. And it's likely someone from school will put two-and-two together, like we did, and believe this mystery boyfriend to be him. And then how are you going to explain things? Do you really want to drag him down with you, without any forewarning?"

Henry added, "We've let too much time pass already. If you have any other ideas..."

Oliver closed his eyes. What Henry said was full of truth, he knew, but he also knew his friends were on the opposing side, wanting him to participate in a farcical public drama that had little chance of succeeding.

It was wrong, foolish, and-- _And the only thing I can think of, _he knew. Looking back and forth at his friends, he shrugged. The battle was lost.

"I'll use your owl! Going to be great, seeing Perce again!" Dave jumped up cheerfully, his mood immediately lifted, and he raced into Oliver's study, shutting (and locking) the door behind him.

Oliver turned to Henry in disbelief. "Did I just--?"

"Yes, you just," Henry answered, gesturing for Oliver to finish the remaining piece of toast. He stood, walking around, straightening up the one room he'd missed.

Slowly, Oliver picked up the last square and chewed without paying much attention to the cold, crispy toast. The same bolt of apprehension raced through him again, and he couldn't help the questions, so uncommon from his usual friendships, from coming to mind: _What if Percy writes back? What would he say? What if he's angry with us, at me, for not keeping in touch? And how am I going to explain what I've done? Is he different now? Would he even want to see me –er, us, again?_

"Dave's good at getting to people," Henry commented. He took out his wand, opening the curtains and quickly casting a deflecting spell on them to provide privacy. Oliver shut his eyes as the natural light filled the flat, the last touch to his friend's housekeeping. It wasn't that he himself hadn't thought of the spell – as a professional sports player, he'd often used similar charms in hotel rooms. But after the interview, he felt the heavy, sudden onset of misery, the flat transforming into a darkened, grimy place he felt deserved.

And now, sitting up and appraising the meticulous flat, he wondered how he ever let things get that fair. An unusual feeling of embarrassment washed over him, soon followed by gratitude for his friendships. _As difficult as they sometimes proved to be, _he added silently

"Thanks, Hen." He motioned for his friend to join him on the couch. "Sorry for the way things have gotten. I know it's not your fault, or Dave's. Mind if I ask you something personal?"

Henry took a seat next to Oliver, nodding to encourage the question.

"Is it hard being an American here? I mean, being accepted? Dave alluded to something earlier, and I never suspected that--" Oliver stopped at the sound of laughter. "What?"

Henry tried to control his deep laugh, saying "I think a lack of fresh air and good food has led you astray by Mr. Sharp's whims. Why, I've never been treated better than in Puddlemere!"

_I'm an idiot. _Oliver let his head fall back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. He muttered, "I'm going to kill him. No, first I'm going to tell Percy how all this is _Dave's_ fault. And then I'm going to kill him."

Still smiling, Henry patted his knee assuredly. "No worries, Ol. It's for the best and anyways, I'm looking forward to meeting this Percy. What's he like?"

Oliver turned his head to face Henry, trying hard not to glare at the closed study door. "Percy? He's great. We were roommates together in Gryffindor –you remember, I told you Dave was in Ravenclaw? My best friends, those two. It's funny, I suppose. He really was the exact opposite of me, always--"

"Like the Odd Couple, eh?"

"Who?"

"Never mind. Go on."

"He was quiet and thoughtful, but very driven. He was-- Well, he was exactly as I described in the interview." As he spoke, Oliver felt warmth come to his cheeks. "He was-- is, a good friend. A little uptight, I suppose, but we always had a great time together. You wouldn't believe the stuff we'd get him into." He chuckled, lost in schooldays memories.

"Knowing you and Dave, you two probably needed a friend like him to ground you." Henry paused thoughtfully before continuing quietly, "I don't know why you were so hesitant to write to the guy."

Oliver shifted uncomfortably on the couch. He ran a hand through his unwashed hair, itching his scalp. "He _is _great. It's just-- He's been through some tough times. He moved up fast in the ministry, at a time when You-Know-Who was believed dead. He alienated his family, believing he was acting for his best interests…"

Henry waited patiently for him to continue.

"And I think he just sort of drifted away when it became apparent that You-Know-Who was back. He was dismissed from the ministry and, though he apologized to his family, he wasn't exactly accepted back with open arms."

"And?" Henry pushed.

Oliver let out a heavy breath. "And I didn't exactly contact him when I learned all he'd been through."

"Is that it? You're a professional now, Ol. You can't be expected to maintain a schooldays friendship. It isn't plausible."

"It would be for Perce," he answered grimly.

The study door flew open, jolting both friends back to the situation at hand. Dave appeared in the doorway, flushed, clasping his hands together. "Take a shower, Ol! You've a lunch date at Chez Puddlemere."

"Hey, that worked out!" Henry said jovially, squeezing Oliver's shoulder.

_Lunch? Today? With Percy? _Oliver felt his stomach turn. "Today? Chez Puddlemere? That café on Main Street? It-it's a little rude, isn't it? Making him come into Puddlemere and--"

Dave shrugged nonchalantly, though his smile betrayed his amusement. He walked towards him, pulling him off the couch with ease despite his height. "He didn't mention any problem with it, Ol."

Henry stood with him. "Come on, Cinderella. You've only a few hours to look half-decent for the ball."

"Listen to your fairy godmother here, Ol," Dave jerked a thumb at the American.

Suddenly Oliver was wondering where the feeling in his legs had gone. He felt Henry's hands guide him towards the bathroom. Trying to gain the upper hand, he said, "Do you think today's all right? I mean, maybe we should wait--"

"He's expecting you," Dave warned from behind him -though even in warning he sounded much too happy for Oliver's peace of mind.

Oliver tried to hide his panic."All right. All right! Just give me a few minutes to get some other things settled."

"Like--"

"I've forgotten to floo my mother back! She's probably worried, and--" He stopped talking. _Lord, that's a pathetic excuse._

"Don't you worry about that, Ol," Henry said, finally pushing him into the bathroom and shutting the door. "Your mother is a lovely woman, I'd be glad to call her and let her know you're in the capable hands of Dave and myself. Besides, I've a new recipe for banana loaf she'll love."

Through the closed door, Oliver heard Dave clip to him, "You really are _the_ gay stereotype, and it's getting embarrassing." A yelp soon followed, Henry having sought quick retribution for the comment.

His heart beating hard, Oliver was only distantly aware of the shower taps that were already running by magic. The bathroom quickly filled with steam, and he leaned his forehead on the foggy mirror, closing his eyes and muttering over and over again:

"What am I doing?"

--tbc--


	3. Meeting

Many thanks to Nicole for giving this a read through. And also to Lea Woods for the offer to beta and the encouragement :)

Chapter Three: Meeting

_12:15pm, Chez Puddlemere_

For an intensely personal man such as Oliver, he knew his choice of profession didn't exactly lend itself to privacy. He didn't have to review Candy Cane's interview (_for the one-thousandth time_) to remember that the public's interest in All Things Quidditch wasn't limited to his actions on the pitch. Yet, fighting for privacy was becoming increasingly difficult amongst his most trustworthy friends.

And after this past weekend, he had a (growing, nauseous) feeling that Dave and Henry would never leave him alone again - even if he decided to become a bookkeeper living in the Azures, without magic or muggle electric.

With this belief forefront in his mind, he had humored his friends – allowing them to pick out his clothes, to fix his hair, to coach him on what to say, to make sure he was fifteen minutes early. He even allowed them to place a floppy hat over his head and overly large sunglasses onto his face, hiding his appearance from potential fans passing by the café.

It will always be this way, Oliver knew now. From the moment Dave and Henry entered the interview with Candy Cane, he never had a chance of escaping Trouble. His feelings were unchanged; he was grateful for his friendships and he'd do everything in his power to keep them forever – but being a good friend often meant going along with questionable advice and escapades without doubt, especially when such actions were undertaken for one's own good.

Not that Oliver considered lunch in broad daylight at an outdoor café 'for his own good.'

He Apparated outside the restaurant's entrance, lifting his sunglasses to give a passing waiter a pleading look, whispering harshly, "Er—I don't suppose you have a table indoors?"

The waiter's glasses jingled on his tray. "Dude! You're, like, totally _in-cog-ni-to_! Who are you, anyways?"

_Just what I need, a foreign-exchange waiter. _"Table. Indoors. Now. _Dude._"

"Can't do!" The waiter started to leave.

Desperate, Oliver grabbed the edge of the tray, pleading through his teeth, "_Dude._"

"Hey! Chill!" The waiter swung the try out of his grip. "We're, like, totally outdoors! Take a seat, man, and I'll get right with you. Try the one in the back corner, next to the shrub. Number 8." The waiter walked away, shaking his head. "_Dude_."

_Obviously, we're meeting at one of Puddlemere's finer establishments, _Oliver thought wryly as he settled at a corner table, crouching down in his seat. He didn't remove his hat or glasses, and he kept his robe buttoned in case a quick getaway was required.

_Not that I'd leave here first without seeing Perce. _

A spark of inexplicable anxiety raced through him. There was no logical reason to be nervous – he was only seeing his old roommate again. After all, now he was a Quidditch star - rich, famous and _allegedly _good-looking (_at least, according to the readers of Quidditch Fan Weekly_). And even knowing the horrors of what Percy must have gone through these past few years at the ministry, Oliver still felt the need to show-off, to be presented the public persona as he was perceived.

And yet, seeing Percy now, there was nothing he could hide. Now he'd know his foolish actions, the trouble he was still getting into, and (worst of all) how he was really just the same Oliver Wood he'd roomed with for seven years, still a troublesome boy, unchanged.

_That's not exactly being fair to Percy, thinking that way, _he knew. He pushed such thoughts out of his head, settling down further into his seat. _Whatever's to be is to be. Calm down, Wood. _And yet his heart still pounded loudly, nervously, and he was helpless to stop his knees from shaking underneath the table.

All in the course of distracting himself, Oliver appraised his surroundings, directing his attention at the pedestrians along the sidewalk rather than his fellow patrons at Chez Puddlemere. Unlike London's Diagon Alley, Puddlemere's Main Street was wide and lined with cement, the newly built shops occupying similar-shaped (and spaced) buildings that mostly catered to tourists and enthusiastic Quidditch fans. Truth be known, the small town only reached 'city' status due to the popularity of its Quidditch team, and the profits from local games continued to bring in more than enough revenue to ensure future expansion. Even from his outdoor table, Oliver could see the towering Quidditch Stadium in the distance, standing at such an imposing height that a newcomer wouldn't doubt for long the city's primary attraction.

For that reason, most of the people that now crowded Main Street were tourists and shop owners, only concerned with purchasing or selling Quidditch-related wares that wouldn't sell at such a high price any place else.

And despite the tourists' allegiance to the sport, they continued to pass by the café without taking note of Quidditch's latest news story. Dave had told Oliver it was the 'perfect cover,' to be right under the very noses of the people that wanted to talk to him.

_Dave doesn't know what he's talking about. All I'm feeling is damn uncomfortable! _Oliver shifted down in his seat, allowing his floppy hat to hide his face even more as he continued to watch the passers-by, burdened with too-many shopping bags that swayed in their hands and heavy, expensive cameras that dangled from their necks.

And out of this sea of confusion, he spotted a flash of brown and red walking at a steady pace with no interest in the surrounding businesses. A tall young man wearing dark sunglasses was making his way easily through the crowd, not minding the swirl of activity around him. His hair was longish, curly and wild, though the style wasn't uncommon to many young wizards of this time. His black formal robes were opened and flapped as he walked, revealing a faded brown sweater (muggle-style) and trousers that appeared too long even for his tall frame. Under one arm, he carried a stack of books. And in his free hand, the young man held onto a leash leading to a Golden Retriever that looked as the perfect model dog, with a shiny coat and a passive demeanor that allowed him to navigate his owner through the crowd at a steady pace.

This couldn't be- 

"Percy," Oliver muttered. Staring through his oversized sunglasses, he couldn't summon the strength to wave him over.

_Why did I expect a crumpled wreck of a man? He looks… familiar, _he realized with a start. Percy's troubled history didn't seem to factor into his appearance, he looked exactly like he should at twenty-three, as though he just left him frozen at Platform 9 ¾ (_albeit with a little more hair but that's still my Percy—er, my roommate Percy_, Oliver thought as he watched the tall man cross the street).

As he continued to watch the redhead's maneuvers through the crowd, he untied the top of his robe, loosening the collar of his shirt, and tilted the floppy hat back as though that sole gesture would make it look less ridiculous.

Percy arrived at the café entrance, about to enter when a quick glance at the outdoor patrons caught the strange man in disguise. When he raised a questioning eyebrow, Oliver lifted his hand to acknowledge him without using his voice, and Percy eagerly walked around the fence.

At this gesture, Percy's face had relaxed into a soft smile, a hint of a blush at his cheeks that Oliver could spot even from his table. He touched the corner of his sunglasses as he approached, the tinted glass instantly turning into clear lenses and revealing ice-blue eyes that looked into Oliver with such interest and warmth that he found himself staring back, mute. At the sight of such familiarity, he broke into a cold sweat, sure that everyone could hear his heart pounding through his chest. _How did I forget about those eyes?_

"Oliver!" Percy exclaimed quietly, looking around the café to make sure he wasn't spotted. With quick hands, he tied the leash to the shrub and, after a quick pat on the dog's head head, stepped over the fence.

"Perce!" Oliver said, matching his quiet tone, smiling. He stood and held out one hand, tilting his sunglasses down briefly with the other as though to prove he truly was himself.

But Percy ignored his outstretched hand, instead setting his books down beside a chair and flinging himself at Oliver, enfolding him in a tight hug.

Oliver wasn't a 'hugger' by nature, preferring a jovial slap-on-the-back to an embrace. He began to draw away but quickly caught himself, instead wrapping his arms around Percy's thin shoulders and squeezing back tightly. He turned his head to the side, avoiding a face full of curls, breathing in a fresh scent that he could only describe as _so unlike parchment-smelling Percy_.

Conscious of hugging too long or hard, he pulled away first and adjusted his hat while he pointed to the table. He resumed the seat behind the shrub, opening his mouth to say something – _anything _– that would cover the anticipated awkward silence-

But instead:

Percy sat down fast, immediately placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward comfortably. "It's great to see you again, Ol! I can't tell you what a surprise it was, receiving your owl this morning."

"Sorry about that, Perce," Oliver felt his face grow red, and he held up his hands, palms facing upwards as he explained, "I've been meaning to write for awhile now, but things have been so busy and-"

"Oh, don't apologize! I understand how busy you are. Congratulations, by the way." He paused, a sheepish expression growing over his face.

Oliver stifled a groan. _Obviously, he's heard about the mystery boyfriend. _

Percy raised a hand to his hair, placing it behind one ear in a nervous gesture, and continued, "You career is amazing! Why, you're in the papers almost every single day. And it's great that you're playing with Dave!"

_Don't remind me. _"Thanks, Perce. I only wish Dave and Henry could join us. You've heard of Henry Oak, right?" Oliver breathed out, sitting back in his seat. The pounding in his heart had ceased, a sense of relief coming over him like a cool breeze on a hot summer's day. Percy was obviously very comfortable seeing him again, and he wasn't holding Oliver accountable to his lack of correspondence.

_Why, it could almost be like old times!_

"Sure, I've heard of Henry," Percy was saying, speaking with gesturing hands. "I haven't read much about his history with the All-Stars but I'm sure he'll prove to be a- Oh!" He paused, suddenly straining his neck to look past Oliver's hat.

The redhead then gave a hearty chuckle, saying, "Might be meeting him sooner than you'd think. I've just noticed a _very familiar_ man at the other side of the cafe, sitting with another _very large _man. Disguised." He ducked his head, now trying to hide his smile.

"What the-" Oliver twisted in his seat.

In matching floppy hats and sunglasses, Dave and Henry (_for who else could it have been?)_ were twisted in their seats to face his table, a single menu hiding most of their faces.

_They are trying my patience! _ Oliver resisted the urge to call them out, remembering their public surroundings (and also their growing hobby of interfering with his private life), but before he could warn Percy, he'd already raised a hand, waving them over. To make matters worse, it was obvious his teammates had wanted to be discovered as Percy's single wave shot them up in their seats and to their table faster than Oliver could object, pulling up two nearby chairs.

Oliver shuffled his own chair closer to Percy's to make room, all the while quelling the surge of annoyance that came to him, having to share this reunion. _Pull it together, Oliver. Best foot forward. _"Fancy meeting you two here," he managed dryly, gesturing to his guest. "Henry Oak, this is Percy Weasley."

Henry reached across the table and took Percy's hand in a firm handshake. "Nice to meet you, Percy. I've heard so much about you."

"About me?" Percy colored slightly, though he quickly recovered with, "I've read a lot about you. How are you enjoying Puddlemere so far?"

Henry's expression lightened. "It's fantastic! Actually, just living in England has been a real treat. I'll tell ya! When I first started here, I wasn't sure-"

Just then, the table jingled. And Dave muttered a dry, "A-_hem_."

His greetings interrupted, Percy gave Henry an apologetic smile and turned towards Dave, giving his fellow Hogwarts prefect a mock-glare. "I think I remember this one, Ol." His expression quickly melted into a welcoming smile, and he rose to give Dave the same tight hug that he'd greeted Oliver.

_But is it the same hug? Was our hug as long? Wasn't he more excited to see me? _Pondering these questions, Oliver stared at his reunited best friends.

Until he felt someone looking at him. He quickly glanced around the café, his nerves settling as no one seemed to be looking in his direction. The entire Main Street, even the café itself, seemed to be clearing out, the lunch hour almost over for most. Except-

Henry. It'd been Henry who was looking at him.

_What does he want? _

Oliver cleared his throat, quickly turning his attention back to the table, everyone having settled down after the introductions. "Er- You've a great dog, Perce. What's his name?" He reached over the shrub, stroking the dog's head. He felt _Something Most-Definitely Wet _nudge the palm of his hand.

"There's a dog?" Dave looked back and forth as though the animal were seated at the table.

"Just over the fence here," Percy answered, taking his seat. "His name is Monty.

"Is he good for meeting girls? Maybe I should get one," Dave muttered, thoughtfully, peering over the shrubbery. He cooed at the animal.

Henry looked at Percy. "I'm glad you knew him at school. It's hard when you have to keep apologizing for what he says. What he does. Just how he is in general, really."

Percy nodded, a knowing smile on his face.

"So when was the last time you three seen each other?" Henry continued, waving over the same waiter who'd spoken to Oliver earlier.

Oliver grimaced. _Not the foreign exchange waiter… Not him…_

"Bout the same time Percy had his last haircut," Dave muttered, staring at Percy's red curls. He suddenly jolted, yelped, staring at his teammates in shock as his hands wrapped around his (_newly bruised_) knee.

Oliver exchanged a grin with Percy. Evidently Henry had put Dave in his place.

The waiter finally noticed their table, walking over with a tray tucked under his armpit. "Wow. You three are, like, all wearing the same disguises. Trying to draw attention away from yourselves? Ha. Whatever. You guys all want specials? It's spaghetti today."

"Spaghetti?" Oliver whispered in horror. _My training!_

"No menu?" Dave inquired.

"No choice?" Henry wrinkled his nose.

_No service. _Exchanging a glance with his friends who all shrugged and nodded, Oliver sighed. He held up four fingers. "That'd be fine. A pot of tea to follow, if you wouldn't mind."

"Whatever." The waiter began to walk away without writing down the order.

"Thank you, Jerry," Percy interjected.

The waiter turned on his heels, his dull eyes squinting at the table with such focus that Oliver thought he might have just been snapped out of a drug haze. "Professor, dude! Didn't see you there! Can I get you a menu, sir?"

Percy smiled at the young man. "It really doesn't matter-"

"But perhaps you'd like something better than the special? Of course you would! It's not all that great - they made it in bulk a couple months ago, just thawed it this morning. I'll bring you guys the fresh fish. And is that Monty over the fence? I'll bring some chicken scraps for him." As quickly as the waiter had arrived, he left the table without waiting for a response.

"Professor Dude?" Henry inquired, a slow smile spreading over his face as he turned to Percy.

"Fish? For lunch?" Dave wrinkled his nose.

Percy spoke to Henry over Dave's head. "That's Jerry Kent. An exchange student I tutored this past summer. He's taken a year off before college."

"You're a teacher?" Oliver asked incredulously.

Dave nudged Henry, whispering (loudly), "Did I forget to mention that?"

_Why didn't I know-_

"Where do you teach, Perce?" Oliver looked pointedly at Percy, ignoring his teammates.

"Puddlemere School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm a junior professor." Evidently Percy was unused to talking about himself, and his pale skin immediately colored.

Oliver nodded encouragingly, recognizing the local school that served mostly young wizards from all-muggle families. The students received equal muggle and wizard-centered studies, usually living amongst muggle society upon graduation. Though the school wasn't as prestigious as Hogwarts, its reputation for tolerance of all beings was unsurpassed by any other institution in wizarding Britain.

And the irony that Percy was teaching at such an inclusive school wasn't lost on Oliver.

"So you didn't have to Apparate very far to get here, Perce?" Henry said gently. "Why, you were right here in the same city all along!"

Percy nodded. "I don't live directly in the city. It's… well, more like on the outskirts. But I'm in the city quite a bit."

Oliver reached over the fence, petting the now-sleeping dog. "What courses do you teach?"

"Oh. Well. Er-one," Percy shrugged, a light red still tingeing his cheeks. "Muggle Literature for 6th and 7th years. The students like anything contemporary, something that they're interested in reading and of course, the compulsory Shakespeare. Sometimes we'll even put on plays."

"That sounds like fun," Dave interjected. "You always were most comfortable in a classroom anyways."

Percy paused before saying slowly, "That's right. I never thought about it that way."

Oliver cleared his throat, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. "So you're off today?"

Percy shook his head. "I just came from the school, actually. But I'm only part-time, and most days aren't full work ones for me." He gestured to the books he'd brought with him.

At that moment, Jerry Kent arrived carrying a tray with four large fish dinners and a small plate for Monty. He set each plate down with a gentleness Oliver would never attribute to the brash young man. But it was only when he received an appreciative nod and smile from Percy (without regard to the others) that he left the table and their conversation could resume again, uninterrupted.

Henry cleared his throat, "So, you must have family in Puddlemere, Perce?

"No," Percy said, his eyes on his food. "Not really. I mean, sometimes my brothers will come up for a visit but then, it's usually around the holidays or long weekends. I don't think I'll see them again until December."

"Nothing wrong with a little independence," Dave declared, his mouth full of chips.

Oliver poked his fork into the fish, absentmindedly playing with his food. His hunger strike these past few days hadn't increased his appetite and besides which, his thoughts were more concentrated on Percy. _Dave's right – there isn't anything wrong with independence. But is it 'a little independence' of his choosing? _

As though anticipating Oliver's silent question, Percy interjected into the silence, "I can't tell you how much it surprised me, hearing from you after all this time." He paused, and Oliver felt certain he was about to say more, when Dave said:

"It surprised Oliver a bit as well."

Henry coughed, asking quickly, "Tell me, Percy. Are you a fan of Quidditch? Or any other sport?"

"Quidditch? Of course! Why, Oliver's the only reason I even look at the sports pages in the morning!"

Dave coughed.

"Oh, you too, Dave," Percy waved his fork in his direction, though he turned to face Oliver. "My students are all big Quidditch fans. We talk about you all the time! But they still won't believe me when I tell stories from our schooldays."

Just as Oliver opened his mouth to reply, Henry said (in a tone Oliver found to be very suspect), "You look kind of familiar. Have you ever attended Puddlemere's games?"

"Of course! When I can, that is."

Oliver jolted, his fork clattering loudly onto his plate. Catching Percy's eye, he said shortly, "You've come to the games? Why didn't you ever come down to the locker rooms? Say hello?" He stared at his friend, surprised and hurt. And he couldn't help adding the clichéd: "You know, Perce, I could have gotten you some great seats."

Percy turned red, his eyes immediately casting downward on his meal. From the corner of his eye, Oliver saw his teammates exchange looks before they too turned towards their meals in silence.

_Big Mouth._ Oliver looked around the café and, catching Waiter Jerry's eye, waved him over. He'd been standing by, tea at-the-ready. And Oliver helped him make room for the set, trying to keep himself busy in this awkward silence instead of trying to sort out the sudden feelings of hurt and shame, realizing he'd been playing in front of his best friend without knowing he was there.

After Jerry left, Oliver poured the tea and began to throw bits of chicken to Monty over the fence.

Percy let out a heavy breath, breaking the silence. "I'm-I'm sorry. I just didn't want to put you out. I mean, things are so different now. You know, with everything that's happened…" He trailed off, looking around the table to confirm what they must have heard about him. When no one spoke, he continued, "It hasn't been easy since the ministry let me go."

He stopped to catch his breath. Oliver's heart sunk – he hadn't meant to make him feel guilty!

Percy took a sip of hot tea and began to explain in a low voice: "I've apologized, and I've done everything that I could to make amends. But there are some things that can't be overlooked, you know?" His words were slow, as though he were thinking to himself out loud. "Most times, it's only Monty and I, and then there's work and- and if you didn't want anything to do with me… Well, it wouldn't have been the first time since I was fired."

"You ought to have known better than that, Perce," Oliver said sternly. Taking a chance, he took off his sunglasses to look at his roommate with resolution, to leave him in no doubt of his sincerity.

"Damn right," Dave muttered.

Percy took his teacup into his hands as though warming them, and then looked directly at Oliver. "That's why it meant so much to me, to receive your owl this morning. To know that you were still speaking to me- That you all wanted to speak to me…" He took a deep breath, setting the teacup back down. He reached over, wrapping his fingers gently around Oliver's wrist. Squeezing lightly, he whispered: "Thank you. Erm - it's a tad overwhelming, mate - you'll have to excuse this."

Percy removed his hand from Oliver's wrist and taking off his glasses, wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

Oliver exchanged a look of horror with his teammates. He ran a cold hand over his warm forehead, his heart beating hard, his breathing seemingly restricted. _I can't tell him the only reason I- rather, Dave wrote to him was because I needed his help. _

He looked desperately at Henry but the brute American only shrugged and looked away, though his ears were colored red at the turn of events. Dave's was leaned into his plate, an unmoving stare concentrated on his fish.

Oliver sunk in his seat. _I can't do this to a broken man. He's only just getting back on his feet again. There has to be some other way. Except… there's not. _He chanced a glance at the redhead next to him; his blue eyes were blurred, directed on his steamy teacup, and a deep blush was _still _growing over his cheeks.

_Nope. Can't do it._

"You didn't happen to hear about the interview last week with CQN?" Dave blurted out. Oliver sat up in his seat in terror. _A little tact, Sharp!_ He tried in vain to kick Dave underneath the table but, judging by the sudden look of pain on Henry's face, he had missed.

"Who hasn't?" Percy said. He gave a low chuckle. "Actually, that's why I thought you asked me here, Oliver. To introduce me to this boyfriend."

"That's right!" Dave said quickly.

"Really? Wonderful! I can't wait to meet him," Percy said. Like a flash, his embarrassment was forgotten with this news, his mood now jovial.

As Oliver exchanged a warning glance with Dave, his imagination trying desperately to come up with another excuse for the outburst. But Percy saw his two school friends glare at each other, and he said in a sudden, serious tone:

"It's not you… Is it, Dave?"

Henry laughed heartily, taking his napkin from his lap and slapping it on the table.

Dave rolled his eyes. "No, it's not me! But thank you for that blow to my ego."

Henry leaned forward, still chuckling. "It's like this, Perce. When Oliver had the interview last week-"

In a panic, Oliver palm slapped the table's surface. _These aren't my friends, they have never been my friends… _He laughed loudly, nervously, and said in a high-pitched voice, "Is there anyplace you have to be this afternoon?"

Percy blinked. "Why, no. Not at all."

"Good. I _do _have something to tell you, Perce," he cleared his throat, eyeing (_warning_) his teammates into silence, "but I think it'd go better at my apartment. Would you come home with me?"

At Oliver's rare direct tone that concealed any signs of his Scottish heritage, Dave didn't even snicker at the request. _Good._

"Sure! That's no problem." He cast an eye over the fence, his red hair jostling with the slightest of movement. He tapped his fingers on the table. "Except I doubt Monty will be allowed there. And I don't like to leave him alone for too long since-"

"That's no problem, Perce," Henry said quickly. "Oliver's free this afternoon. Why don't you two get reacquainted at your place? Since Dave and I have… That Thing… At Oliver's apartment."

"Thing?" Dave inquired, then yelped and grabbed his knee, muttering something that sounded very much like: 'damn American.' Writhing in pain, he said loudly, "Oh! How could I _ever _have forgotten that?"

Oliver stared at his teammates in horror. Did Henry just invite me to Percy's house? He felt what little fish he ate come up in his throat. How did I lose control of this situation? 

And then – serving to only further his nausea – Oliver remembered that he had already given up control during the Candy Cane interview. With cautious eyes, he looked at trusting, unknowing Percy that was falling into this abyss of chaos, subject to the idiotic whims of three professional Quidditch players (_and Merlin help us all!_).

"My place?" Percy had paled, (it appeared) searching for a plausible excuse to dissuade the situation and, with a quick glance at Monty, relented: "Sure. We can go to my house. You'll probably want to meet up later, so I'll leave my address-"

"No!" Dave lounged across the table, grabbing his wrist, holding him still. "Oliver's free _right now._"

"Er—That's right. All afternoon. Just like you," Henry chimed in. Oliver threw him a threatening glare but the American focused only on Percy: "And then you guys can come back to Oliver's later on. In fact, Dave and I will watch Monty for you. I grew up with animals, he'll be in fine hands."

"Don't you have _that thing_?" Percy asked, doubtfully.

"_That thing _can be done with Monty," Henry said reassuringly.

Oliver coughed loudly, though his effort was unnoticed by his friends. _Is Henry… Is Henry using the dog as blackmail? _As though reading his thoughts:

"So then you'll _have _to come back! Even if you don't-" Dave started, then yelped once more. And then Henry yelped in return.

Evidently there were going to be some heavily bruised Quidditch players at the next meeting.

"Even if I don't what?" Percy asked, his eyes widening.

"Even if you don't _have the time_," Henry chuckled nervously, trying to cover Dave's indiscretion. "So we can all see each other again! Perhaps at supper. Or something."

Confused, Percy turned to look at Oliver. "You want to tell me something? In private? Without my dog? And then… does this involve your boyfriend?"

"That's one way to put it, Perce. You wouldn't believe how much you two have in common!" Dave added, his hands still holding his knee tight. He quickly drew back on the remark, afraid for Henry's physical reprisal.

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, to provide some sort of excuse for his teammates' behavior, for the entire situation – but he stopped as Percy suddenly looked over his head, staring wide-eyed.

It wasn't necessary for the three Quidditch players to also turn. Immediately, they could _hear _an assortment of excited voices that explained exactly what captured Percy's attention:

"Look, Ma! Look! It's Oliver Wood and his _boyfriend_!"

"Why, you're right!"

"Just like he said on the radio! I've never see hair that red!"

"Oh, but isn't he thin!"

"I think he looks hot!"

"I think he needs a haircut!"

"Look at those freckles! They must go all the way down to his-"

"Isn't that Oak? He's Canadian, right?"

"American! Who cares? That's David Sharp with them!"

"Who cares about either of them? Imagine, Wood gay! What a perfect waste of a good man!"

"I think they're happy. Why wouldn't they be?"

"I'd shag the lot in a heartbeat."

"Funny, isn't it? How opposites attract?"

"Red looks so familiar! Yes… Why, I think that's our little Jeremy's teacher from the school!"

"Professor Wibbley!"

"Professor Teasley!"

"Oh, who cares? Who's got a camera?"

Cautious and curious, Oliver could see the group slowly approach the table from the reflection in his sunglasses. He turned to Percy, now wide-eyed with shock, and, pushing through his own anxiety, spoke quickly: "Trust me. You and I need to get out of here _right now_. Leave Monty with Henry, and let's Apparate to your place."

Percy's gaze drifted from the crowd to Oliver's, unblinking. He opened his mouth, a thousand questions about to unleash, when Oliver muttered once again:

"Trust me." He reached across the table, taking Percy's cold hand in his own, squeezing his fingers lightly.

And slowly, the red curls bobbed up-and-down in a gesture Oliver had no choice but to take as an affirmation.

He stood, pulling Percy up with him (his surprise leaving him at a deadweight). He didn't let go of his hand.

Dave nodded encouragingly at Percy, saying quietly, "We'll meet up later. I'll take good care of Monty."

"And I'll take good care of Dave," Henry joked lightly, though his face held a worried expression. "We'll be at the apartment, Ol."

Someone yelled out, "They're touching! They're touching!" as a multitude of flashbulbs suddenly went off.

Henry and Dave exchanged a warning glance and then, like actors on a stage, stood up and in front of the _couple_, facing the approaching crowd with pasted-on carefree grins under their disguise, as though nothing strange was occurring at Table 8, Chez Puddlemere.

Oliver and Percy vanished, hand-in-hand.

-

_Percy's Home, Area Unknown  
Immediately Following Lunch_

Percy dropped his hand, recovering from the short journey quickly. Oliver shook his head, clearing the familiar fog that envelops wizards during an Apparition, and fixed his gaze on the home before him.

_Where am I? Is this- is this someone's home? _ Oliver stared before him.

Completely surrounded by trees, a small decrepit house sat in the center of what appeared to be a heavily dense forest. The house was obviously rotting, with every part of the structure appearing to tilt to the side. Boards half-hung off the side of the house. The roof held few scattered tiles, and the bricks from the top of the chimney had sliced the stack in two, a pile of bricks littering the tiny yard. The windows were almost blackened with age. Old muggle electrical appliances littered the yard. Oliver couldn't see any scenery, any evidence of where he may have Apparated, except endless trees and sky. It was completely silent.

_This makes the Shrieking Shack look like Malfoy Mansion, _Oliver grimaced.

Percy, he noticed, began walking up the steps of the home, appearing to walk in strategic places as though one foot out of place would cause him to fall through the stairs. _Which it probably could, _he realized with a start.

Unsure of what to say, Oliver remained silent, watching Percy ascend the stairs carefully. Even from behind, he could tell the redhead was flushed, the muscles in his neck visibly red, tight. Reaching the porch, he stopped and turned slowly, and Oliver drew in a quick breath, awaiting what his (_formerly meticulous, formerly fussy, formerly nail-bitingly scrupulous_) roommate was about to say.

"Why don't we go inside, then? Have a cuppa?" Percy pursed his lips as his eyes met Oliver's, the hot afternoon sun glaring orange through his hair. But his eyes were dark and he crossed his arms, his tone suddenly sharp as he added, "And you can clear up this cock-and-bull story you've been dealing me."

->_ To Be Continued_


	4. Moving

Chapter Four: Moving

"Come on in, _Oliver_," Percy sighed heavily, opening the front door a tad, leaving it ajar for Oliver to follow him. "And you can tell me what you've gotten yourself into this time."

Wide-eyed, Oliver took another look around the disorderly yard before scurrying up the steps and inside, closing the door with a loud _BANG!_ lest the mess somehow found a way to crawl in after him.

The ever-present feeling of apprehension, foreboding, increased in his chest at Percy's sharp words, though he knew they were justified. He'd called him out, much as he use to in high school when his no-nonsense attitude would almost immediately force a confession from Oliver or Dave. It produced the same effect now – he shuffled his feet in place, tried to ignore the anxiety that always swelled before the confession, and the uneasiness that seemed to be crawling (_tensing_) every muscle. But that feeling of uneasiness – Oliver realized, he'd felt the same throughout the luncheon with Percy. Something about their meeting didn't quite seem right… _didn't seem true_.

Not that his feelings mattered anyways. After all, it was almost time (or _crunch time_, as his coach frequently called such anxiety-causing matters on the field) for Oliver to step up to the plate.

But Percy was nowhere in sight and he didn't want to go looking through the small house for him, especially after the cold reaction outside. So instead he remained standing inside the doorway. Waiting.

Oliver immediately recognized the room he was standing in to be the living room area, obviously the most occupied room of the house. Old chairs and a long couch with faded, mismatched fabrics were scattered throughout the room, with the occasional eccentric object (most of which appeared too dated and complex for him to even chance a guess as to their origins) sitting on different-sized tables. A dog bed sat in the corner. There were no bookshelves; instead books of different sizes, ages and conditions were piled carelessly in corners, under and above the tables, and splayed open on every chair. Oliver even thought that some of the lumpier cushions might have been hiding even more books. A fireplace roared along the back wall, a fresh log having been thrown on it. The mantelpiece was lined with photographs of Percy's family and high school days, and Oliver guessed anyone unfamiliar to be work colleagues.

Despite the age of Percy's furniture, the house – to Oliver – looked _Percy_. Cleanliness and order were important to him at Hogwarts, yes, and the condition of the house was a shock to Oliver at first. But, thinking back, he could remember that his roommate wasn't always strict with his cleaning habits. Whenever there'd be a large project or studying to be done, or even when Oliver was preparing his Quidditch supplies for a big game, Percy wouldn't mind the room in shambles as long as the dust stayed away and everything was hidden when company came round. And so now, viewing this living room with such memories in mind, everything seemed to be set out comfortably and casually, giving a pronounced 'lived-in' warmth that Oliver himself still hadn't found since moving into Puddlemere Estates four years ago.

There were very few items here that linked Percy to the wizarding world. And yet – _is that a wizard-teaching planner? _Oliver walked over to a small table that held an opened, glowing book, sparks rising from the pages. _Magically charmed to his activities. Interesting. _He leaned over to read Percy's notes:

**Meet with GF to go over lesson plan (vac.)**

**Submit September marks to FK**

**Session #15 - Detail Hamlet Paper**

**Questions and discussion on Twelfth Night (Act I and II), as follows**

**(blah blah blah blah blah)**

**Finish grading essays**

**OW at Chez Pudd.**

**J…**

'_J…'_?_ What would that be-- _

"Have a seat," Percy came back into the room, balancing two teacups and a plate of biscuits in his hands. He placed one set on top a pile of books and used his hand to clean off the couch seat in one sweep. He sat down, gesturing for Oliver to join him. "All right. Let's have it. What did you do _this time_? And what does it have to do with me?"

Oliver blinked before finding his senses and joining Percy on the couch. The lesson planner now forgotten, he felt indignant at Percy's tone of voice, of his condescension and –

So very sorry that it was fully deserved.

He took the teacup with a grateful nod, allowing for a careful sip of the strong, hot brew before delving right into his story.

And tell Percy he did – Oliver relayed the events of the interview word-for-word, including Dave and Henry's arrival and attempted joke to put Miss Candy Cane in her place. He described the scene at the bar afterwards and the outpouring media coverage since the weekend, including a list of all the disadvantages that could occur if he were to tell the truth now.

All the while he spoke, Percy stared at the floor, at no place in particular, occasionally nodding and nibbling on a biscuit. He didn't look dejected at finding out the real reason for Oliver's visit, instead taking the news as though he were hearing the latest round of Quidditch draft picks. When he'd finished, Percy set down his empty cup and brushed his hands together, finally meeting his gaze.

"And I'm to fit this description of the mystery boyfriend?"

"Not 'to fit'. It does fit you," Oliver felt his face redden. He spoke in a hurried rush, using his hands. His limbs felt too big, too awkward and useless, and he banged his legs against Percy's before settling back in the chair. "It's just… We all got a little caught up. And we really just described a person that-- Well, I was just trying to think up a description, and Dave and Henry… You and I were together for so long. Together _at school_. And--" He breathed out, feeling his face grow even more red. He opened his mouth to further explain--

"I'll do it."

"You'll do what?" Oliver stared at him incredulously.

Percy gave him a gentle smile, giving his knee a tap with his own in assurance, though his brow furrowed and he didn't look at Oliver directly. "Of course I'll do it. You should have mentioned something from the start. But I don't exactly have a flawless history here. They'll be sure to find out about my dismissal from the Ministry. And my family..."

Oliver tried to quell his smile, his heart seemingly swelling at the shock of Percy's agreement. He shook his head. "No, no. Don't worry about that, Perce! That'll be only a mere detail." He wasn't exactly certain of that answer but at the moment the only coherent thought he could string together was: _percy-will-do-it-percy-will-do-it._

"My colleagues will probably wonder why I haven't mentioned you."

"Just use the same reasons I did."

"Back to my family, they'll--"

"We'll deal with them when the time comes."

"So, we'll just pretend we've been together?"

"Hey, who do you know better?" Oliver flashed him a smile.

Percy chuckled. "Very few people, I can assure you." He patted Oliver's knee, reaching for another biscuit.

Oliver tried to ignore the puzzled feeling upon hearing that. It almost sounded like a double entendre – _except Percy wouldn't have meant that!_ He cleared his throat. "We can just make up a history or something. Like we got together after you attended one of my games here. And we just kept it quiet."

"That's certainly plausible. What about your other boyfriends?"

"Oh, well…" Oliver trailed off, trying desperately to control the oncoming flush. "I don't really date that much. And certainly not seriously! That won't be an issue. Er- what about you?"

Percy shook his head, his hair waving wildly. "Don't worry about it. Only the occasional date here and there."

"Oh?" Oliver asked, his curiosity peaked. Percy shot him an inquisitive look and Oliver immediately took up another biscuit, appearing to find it's layers much more interesting than hearing the answer.

Why the hell should I care who he's dated? 

"Nothing serious, Ol."

Oliver let out a big sigh. "Oh, good!" He stopped, clearing his throat. "I mean, _good_ for our situation. Right now. Here. _Ahem_." He looked at his wrist though he wore no watch. "It's getting pretty late in the day. I don't suppose we should go over things right now? Or did you want to go back to my place and--?" _And what, Wood? Build a fort out of your furniture and bed sheets?_

"Can we leave it go until tomorrow? I've an entire pile of papers to grade by early tomorrow morning. I'm free after lunch, though." He had gestured to another door out of the living room, one that Oliver supposed to be his office. "It'll be pretty straightforward, I'm certain. We already know so much about each other, I doubt a lot has changed in the past few years."

Oliver stopped himself from mentioning the condition of the yard that was so unlike Percy's high school persona. But – _Didn't the wizard-teaching planner strike through his grading? Didn't he say he only has one class?_

Before he could ask, Percy added, "And we'll just fill in the blanks, so to speak, until all is settled down. Then we'll break off in a couple of weeks. Piece of cake."

"Yeah," Oliver nodded, though he felt his chest sink a bit at the thought. He didn't want to look that far ahead into the future. _One thing at a time._ "Perfect. Er- Let's make some plans for tomorrow, then. And we should floo Dave and Henry to bring back your dog."

"Our dog," Percy corrected, raising his eyebrows.

Oliver chuckled heartily, more from relief over Percy's comment than anything else. "Always wanted one, Perce."

Percy sat back, crossing his legs casually, balancing his teacup on one knee. "He'll take to you, Ol. You always were good with animals, anyways. Why, do you remember when--"

The shrill of a muggle telephone broke off Percy's words, and Oliver watched him dive for the receiver under the dog cushion. _This is some filing system, _he thought wryly, watching as his former roommate – no, current _boyfriend_, spoke to the operator.

Oliver sat back on the couch, feeling comfortable enough to lift his feet onto the coffee table. He let his head rest on the back cushion, his earlier nervousness long vanished and a calm having settled over him in its place. And yet a sharp, rich feeling of euphoria was also racing through this tranquility.

Because Oliver was _excited_! He'd been pushed beyond his limits, out of his 'zone' of comfort, and now _this _was interesting. _This _was Percy back in his life. Everything was suddenly good and right and just like Hogwarts without curfews or grownups and there was a dog to play with and Dave has Henry to be distracted with and who gives a damn about All Things Quidditch when your best friends were around and you had the world on a string--

Except… Does he really have papers to grade tonight? And what does 'J…' mean? Will he tell me if I ask? 

Percy's raised voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"Ron, listen to me! It's not that big of a deal…. I sorry that I didn't say anything sooner, but Oliver and I wanted to keep our relationship quiet until we felt we could come forward--…. Of course that included family, both his and my own, no exceptions…. Seeing us? Perhaps that can wait until the public has settled down a bit… Look, I'm—Ron! Ron!… Lord," He muttered to himself, rolling his eyes. He caught Oliver looking at him, and he returned a sheepish smile, explaining, "He's gone to put my mother on the phone."

Oliver nodded, knowingly. "I've already dealt with mine by floo. If I was any younger, she'd have grounded me until my grandchildren were flying their first broom!"

"I wouldn't put it past my mother to do that at any age--" Percy's attention was suddenly diverted back to the receiver. "Mum! Stop yelling! Mum, it's not that big of a deal…"

_**CRACK!**_

Oliver startled.

In the middle of Percy's living room –_actually, on the top of his coffee table_, Oliver noticed in horror, Henry, Dave and Monty appeared, sending stacks of books onto the floor.

"What the hell?" He stood quickly.

Henry jumped off the table. Monty had already recognized where he landed and, quick as lightening, raced over to join Percy.

Oliver scratched the back of his neck, still in shock. "How did you two know to get here?"

Still standing on the table, Dave brought a hand to his head. "Where did you think I sent the owl to this morning? Charlie told me months ago. Besides, it's on the mutt's tag. Oliver, don't just stand there. Give me a hand, eh?"

"Mutt?" Oliver questioned, looking at Henry. He ignored Dave's outstretched hand.

Henry jerked a thumb at Dave. "Don't mind him. He's cranky because Monty ate his mid-afternoon snack."

"An entire sandwich!" Dave jumped off the table, having recovered his nerves. He eyed the home carefully (and, Oliver noticed, with a similar degree of surprise as he himself had earlier).

"In the papers already," Percy muttered, almost to himself, as he hung up on the phone. He looked up and blinked, as though experiencing a delayed reaction to the newest arrivals. He chuckled as Monty jumped up on him, and he leaned in for a cuddle. "Did you say he ate your sandwich? Yeah, you have to watch that, Dave. You fellows want some tea? Have a seat while I go put on the kettle and feed Monty." He nodded at the Quidditch players before turning into the kitchen, the dog quick on his heels.

"Did he just say he was going to _feed _the dog? Did he not hear about my sandwich?" Dave shook his head in disgust.

"Dav-id," Oliver warned.

Henry was looking at the photographs that scattered the fireplace. "Percy's brothers are hot," he muttered, taking one family portrait closer to the light.

Oliver threw him a glance that went unnoticed. "Of course," he said distractedly, looking towards the kitchen. "They all look like him."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Henry and Dave exchange a glance. Dave cleared his throat. "And are _we _a couple yet?"

Oliver grunted, trying not to make a big deal out of Percy's agreement.

"So he agreed to it, eh?" Henry placed the photograph back in its spot. "Just like that?"

"Well," Oliver shrugged, not understanding what his friend's dry tone meant. "Percy was always a sensible fellow. It was just the logical course of action, really."

"He wouldn't have a choice, anyways," Dave shook his head. He sat on the couch, not minding the books. "It's already hit the afternoon editions of the big papers. It's on all the muggle-wizard stations. They've already mentioned his situation at the Ministry."

"And?" Oliver asked quickly.

"The press is pretty good about it so far, no real bias in the afternoon editions. I was talking to your fan club," Henry continued, joining Dave on the chair (albeit more careful of the books). Oliver winced at the mention of his legions of screaming fans as Henry continued, "They think it's cool. Apparently adds to his mystique. Something about independence and standing on his own two feet, and admitting he's wrong without stubbornness. Your fan-girls are going crazy, fan-girling over him too. I think it's the hair, really."

"He's really well-liked at Puddlemere School," Dave added, his eyes still looking around the home. "They've already done interviews with some young students. Can't say enough good things about him. And apparently he _really does _talk about you in class, so it makes your relationship all the more believable."

Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was falling into place.

"This place just doesn't seem like him though, does it?" Dave continued, though he spoke low, seemingly to himself. "No wonder, though. All things considered."

"What things?" Oliver inquired, sitting back down on the couch.

"I can't imagine the pay is too great for a part-time teacher that has a few Ministry violations against him. Oliver, it's possible that Percy's been paying fines in lieu of jail time or something," Henry supplied. He was casually flipping through one of the books.

"Jail time?" Oliver said horrified.

Dave nodded. "Jail time. Oliver, there's a reason why few people go against the Ministry's position. At least in public. You're lucky that your fan-girls aren't holding it to him. Just another change that--"

"Change?" Oliver looked at his two friends warningly. The jail time bit was surprising to him but he supposed that he'd been hanging around muggle-friendly Puddlemere and America rather than the metropolitan wizarding world lately, forgetting about the strong prejudices that remained. As for changes… well, yes, of course Oliver knew that there would be certain changes to be made; but he was growing more and more resentful of being forced into such situations. Why couldn't Dave and Henry just leave him and Percy alone, to figure things out themselves?

"Yeah, changes. The hair for one thing--"

"Lay off the hair, Dave. I think it looks sexy," Henry said, folding his arms and giving an abrupt nod.

" Yeah, you and Ollie's fan-girls. I'll get scissors to his head before this week is over, mark my words!" Dave glared back at him. "As for other changes… Well, the press won't believe that you two live… here," He gestured around the room. Though his tone turned gentle, he had a glint in his eyes that Oliver knew to mean he was serious.

"Why not?" Percy had walked into the room with a tray of steaming mugs. Oliver felt a pinch of embarrassed, of shame, as he watched him hand the tea to Dave and Henry, and then stand back expectantly. "This is _my_ home. And Monty--"

"Is allowed at the apartment- er, flat," Henry finished, taking a sip of his tea. "I checked. The doorman particularly liked him. He says that he often walks the dogs for the residents. Er – nice tea, by the way."

"Your flat?" Percy spurted, turning to face Oliver. "No, I-I can't. It's just--" He stopped, placing a hand over his tired face. "I'm sorry, it's all so much, so soon. I know that it has to be done to get you through this, Ol. But isn't there some way we can be--"

"It's all right, Perce," Oliver quickly reassured him, glaring at his teammates. "I don't want to force you through this. I'm really am grateful that--"

"I know, I know," Percy took his hand off his face, giving him a reassuringly smile (that was anything but to Oliver). "I'm sorry. I'm just not use to--"

"It'll still be your home," Henry interjected softly, leaning forward on his knees. "Don't you worry 'bout that. Why, it's so far in the woods here, I doubt anyone could ever find it. But if they did, you and Oliver could always say it was your home away from home. So to speak."

"And in the meantime, I'm certain Monty wouldn't mind the city for a bit. A little change of pace," Dave adding, smiling softly. It wasn't a condescending expression but one of hope and friendship, and for his normally brash friend to go to such length to be gentle, Oliver felt overwhelmed with gratitude. "Besides, Henry and I live there as well. Mind you, our apartments aren't as spacious or grand as _Oliver Wood, Keeper Extraordinaire_, but we'd love to have you hang with us during the team's hiatus."

Percy smiled at Dave's humoring tone but he turned to face Oliver quizzically, as though silently asking permission.

Oliver smiled, nodding at him. "What'd you say to being my boyfriend? Somewhat retroactively for oh… I suppose, a couple years?" He spoke with humor but still struggled to conceal the anxiety that had been racing through him throughout their meeting.

Percy laughed, shaking his head. His wild curls sprung loose, framing his face, and as they moved, Oliver could see the stress, the tension, leave Percy's body. It wasn't until that moment he realized how much effort Percy had placed into this meeting, and how much of a testament to their past friendship this outcome had proved, that he'd actually agreed to take up residence with this foolish lot.

_Flat 3-B, Puddlemere Estates  
Bedroom. Near Midnight._

Though Oliver wanted to stay with Percy that evening, he understood the responsibilities of a 'normal' job and (somewhat grudgingly) allowed Henry and Dave to Apparate home with him. He also knew that Percy probably needed some Alone Time, to sit back and reflect on the events of the day, and to try to sort through their future charades on his own terms.

At least, that's what Oliver assumed he'd be doing this night. After all, that was what _he _had been reflecting on.

And while Percy appeared to favor his living room and would probably be there right now, Oliver supposed, he himself preferred a dark, cold corner of his small guest bedroom, so far removed from the harsh-lit, modern deco of his flat. This bedroom – his bedroom, wasn't even the largest of the apartment. There was a single bed and nightstand in the room, and no cupboard space beyond a small cubbyhole behind one carelessly hung picture.

Despite this small space, Oliver loathed having visitors when he'd have to disclose that this room was, indeed, his own. Not that they'd believe him: "Oh, no Oliver! I couldn't take the master bedroom. I don't care what you say, no one would ever sleep in here if they had the choice!" But they didn't understand the attraction of the room, the one room that happened to have the largest bay window, overlooking much of Puddlemere metro and beyond, to the distant forest and hills.

And this night, as he stared out the largest window with the blinds open _just so_, it hadn't escaped his thought that Percy could very well live in the exact direction he was looking.

As he eyes followed the patterns of twinkling stars, he lay propped up on his pillows, an arm dangling over his head. He'd left Percy hours ago but already he was wondering what he was doing, how his papers were going. _What would he have been doing if I hadn't asked him to help me today? Would he have gone out with friends? Or out by himself? Would he have just gone for a walk around the block and called it a day before retiring to his papers? Did he even have papers to grade? What – rather, who is 'J'? And if Percy had plans tonight with 'J', why wouldn't he have just said something?_ Oliver felt a tinge of jealousy at the thought that Percy could be out with another man right now. _No, he wouldn't be. Not after agreeing to play this role_. _Not that the idea of Percy dating bothers me--_

_Ring! Ring!_

The muggle phone next to his bed jingled, startling him up.

But just as his hand hovered over the receiver, he paused. It wouldn't do him any good to answer a call from journalists, asking more inane questions, or even his teammates, coaxing him and Percy out for the night. He certainly wasn't in the mood to talk to Henry and Dave again, as nothing ever good seemed to come from their advice. _Like a tunneling spiral of trouble, _Oliver thought.

On the other hand, today he found out that _a certain someone _had a similar muggle phone and therefore could be calling --

"Hullo!" he said sharply, picking up the phone before he could finish the thought.

"Oliver! Where the hell have you been?"

"Oh, Mom," he choked. _Of all people… _He reached over the bed and turned on the light, rubbing his eyes to adjust to the brightness.

She clucked her tongue. "Is it true?"

"Is _what_ true, Mom?"

"Your boyfriend. Is it-- Is it that Weasley one? It's been all over the evening papers."

Oliver stiffened. "Er-- Yes, Mom." _Breath in, breathe out._ "Percy's my… My boyfriend."

His mother didn't hesitate. "And you're embarrassed by him?"

Olive said quickly, "Of course not!"

"Embarrassed by me, then? By your mother?"

"Lord! Mom, of course not!"

"Then you tell him that your mother's going to beat her son around the ears for not bringing him by sooner! Honestly Oliver! Sometimes I wonder about you."

If one could hear a smile, Oliver would have sworn that he just did.

"Mom?"

"What?"

"I love you."

She chuckled. "Good night, Oliver. Say goodnight to Percy for me as well. You two get a good night's sleep now." And she hung up the phone.

Oliver gaped, still holding the phone receiver to his ear.

For some reason he couldn't fathom, it never occurred to him that having Percy as his _pretend _boyfriend meant that people would assume their relationship was in any way a physical, sexual relationship.

Oliver slept very little that night.

_- - To Be Continued_


	5. Moochers

(Updating this story here, but some of you might have read this part before on the other website. Thank you so much for the reviews, suggestions and emails, they are all greatly appreciated :)

Chapter Five: Moochers

_Wednesday, October 6th (11:12am)  
Flat 3-B, Puddlemere Estates_

Oliver never remembered dreams, the night of October 5th allowing no exceptions. What he _did_ remember, vaguely, was waking up and turning off the phone's ringer at some point during the night. He also remembered turning off the alarm and pressing the snooze button repeatedly before he found a better solution by slamming the clock into the nightstand drawer. It wasn't until a loud _CRACK!_ jolted him up from his bed that he realized he _may-have-just-somewhat-kind-of-accidentally_ slept in longer than he'd intended.

Dizzy and disoriented, he stood beside the bed now, only in his shorts, his eyes barely open as he surveyed the room. When no suspect shadows appeared in the darkness, he raced into the hallway and towards the kitchen, touching the walls for support and stopping in the few rooms along the way that would indicate the source of the Apparition.

He regained his sensibilities only as he approached the end of the hallway, a part of his mind reminding him that he was expecting Percy today and, considering his attitude towards his alarm clock, the 'intruder' may just be him.

And Oliver was only in his shorts.

His feet tried to stop just before the kitchen but failed, instead skidding on the mat and flying into the kitchen and onto the floor, landing headfirst and flat on his stomach.

"Classy," a heavy American drawl remarked.

_Oh, please let that be Henry. Please let that be Henry alone, minus Dave and – good Lord! - minus Percy!_ Oliver felt the initial shock of what'd occurred slowly set into his body - the tingling of pain in his knees, the burns on his hands from the hall mat, the loss of several layers of skin from his chest. Or at least, the feeling of such a loss. In the few seconds on the floor, he tried to compose himself. What he needed was a few moments alone with a few undignified yelps and time to let him master the pain without movement. What he did instead was put on a brave face and tried to ignore the pain and the fact his ass was high in the air, chancing a glance up.

Henry was standing above him, holding a teapot in one hand and a teacup in the other, looking down at Oliver with a slightly bemused expression, as though he were a proud parent watching a child at play. "I'll assume you thought it was too early for Percy to be here? 'Cause if this is how the British greet their new houseguests, I've been missing out."

Oliver's turned his head back down and he felt his entire body seemingly melt into the floor, letting out a heavy groan into the concrete that was certain to be heard by the occupants of the suite below him.

_At least Percy isn't around. Thank goodness for small favors!_

"Henry, I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop looking at Oliver's ass. I'm going to get jealous!"

With a hiss, Oliver turned his head sharply in the other direction. From his (painful) position on the floor, he saw Dave's bottom half sticking out of an opened fridge door, his own ass moving to a tuneless whistle that he only just burst into.

Oliver turned his head back to Henry, looking up and asking cautiously, "It's just you two, right?"

"Right, Prince Charming," Henry quipped, setting down the teapot and teacup, and offering Oliver a hand up.

Oliver allowed himself to be slowly pulled up by Henry's strength and, once he was steady on his feet (albeit leaning against a wall), he found energy to bellow out, "What the hell are you two doing here now?"

Dave stuck his head out of the fridge for a moment, appraising Oliver's appearance before turning back. "Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of an empty bed this morning. All things considered Ol, I think you should keep in mind that young love can be fleeting and a little attention to one's personal appearance can go a long way. Take for instance--"

"Dav-id," Henry gave his usual warning, passing Oliver a cup of tea with an apologetic look. "Sorry about this, Ol. We thought you'd be up by now, getting ready for Percy. Isn't he popping by soon?"

Oliver shrugged his shoulders and tried not to drop his cup with the pain that came over him. He gave Henry a large smile, trying to appear casual. "Percy? Sure, he'll be here after lunch. Is there anything I can help you guys with?"

Henry poured two more cups of tea, a gentle smile on his face. "I'm glad to hear that he won't be by for a bit. We were hoping to find you alone. We wanted to have a little chat with you about this whole thing."

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the soreness. The pain of his comedic entry only furthered his tensions. He was too tired to care why his friends had chosen _this_ moment on _this_ particular day to come annoy him. Why couldn't they have knocked or at least, have arrived a little earlier, ensuring that he'd be up-and-about for Percy's arrival?

_Speaking of which, you'd better hustle them along, Wood, his mind issued another pointed reminder._ Not that it mattered to Oliver that Percy might see him in his shorts. _But there is a certain etiquette that--_ Oliver wobbled over to a barstool with his teacup and looked at his friends expectantly. "Let's have it, and let's have it fast."

"Funny you're still single with that attitude," Dave muttered.

Henry let out a heavy sigh, about to admonish his blunt friend once again. But Dave anticipated this move, quickly closing the fridge door with an armful of foods that Oliver knew weren't in his fridge yesterday. "Don't say a word, Oak. You can't say this isn't surprising, even to you. The entire world is caught up in Oliver' Wood's love life, and he decides to sleep for-? What? Twelve hours? Ol, you're in the news, the papers. You're what everyone along Diagon Alley's talking about. Your ears should be _ringing!_"

Surprisingly, Henry turned to Oliver instead of addressing Dave. "And really, you should have been up a little earlier to deal with the little things. You're not going to have an easy time of it."

"Obviously," Oliver muttered. He took another sip of his tea, trying to quell his annoyance. He _knew_ that they would have to come up with a sort of game plan to cover their lies. But who was to say that 'they' meant all four of them, and not Percy and him alone? After all, Oliver reasoned, they were the ones who had to go through with it all.

He watched Henry and Dave exchange a look and winced. Evidently he hadn't done a good job hiding his annoyance. And as good as friends as they were, he couldn't find the patience to follow their advice. He hated the feeling of giving up control, something that he's had to live with since the Candy Cane interview. And now that Percy would be involved, he was given the opportunity to balance out Dave's hyper and critical nature, and Henry's paternal concern.

Oliver remained quiet, slowly draining his teacup as the kitchen was enveloped in an awkward silence. He then looked at his teammates pointedly (though, he admitted, without much credit considering he was almost naked) and opened his mouth, about to tell his friends _exactly_ where they could go until this whole ordeal passed, when--

_Is something tapping?_

"I think that's the window. Sounds like an owl!" Dave said, rushing into the living room.

His scorn forgotten, Oliver turned to Henry, now puzzled. "How is that possible? My mail is screened from the fans."

Henry was finishing his own tea, smacking his lips. As he licked around the rim, he muttered, "I come here for the Quidditch, I stay for the tea... Oh, sorry Ol. Your mail is still screened, I'd imagine. It's probably just your family. Or Percy."

"Oh" was all Oliver said, but he spun around the stool and followed Dave into the living room. _An owl? From Percy?_

Dave quickly opened the window and let in Percy's owl, Hermes, taking a note from his hand. Oliver cooed and the owl snatched the note out of Dave's hand, flying across the room and landing on his shoulder. He took the note, throwing Dave a smug look before tearing it open, while his other hand ran over the owl's feathers, scratching lightly behind his ears. As though he sensed a more accommodating target, Hermes flew to Henry's shoulder, and he took the owl into the kitchen to (Oliver assumed) fed him some bits of toast.

As Oliver tore open the envelope, a warm familiarity came over him. It was a combination of security and friendship that made his heart swell, realizing that his best friend's owl would remember him, and come to him so freely even after their separation.

He skimmed the note.

_Oliver-_

_Off at one o'clock. Is that time alright for arriving to your flat? Also, I'd like to see Henry and Dave with you, if that's possible. I've a few things to go over._

_Regards,  
Percy_

Henry yelled out from the kitchen, "Well? What does it say?"

Oliver cleared his throat. "Percy's free at one. He wants to know if we all can be here when he arrives. Apparently, he has a few things to discuss."

Henry reappeared, the owl still on his shoulder with an entire piece of bread hanging out of his mouth. "That's great. We all have some issues to iron out. And Oliver, this is especially important for you. You're not going to believe the media outpour that--"

Oliver grabbed a pen, quickly writing _'See You Soon'_, and attaching it to Hermes leg. With a quick flick of the window latch, the owl was off again. He crumbled up Percy's note in his hand. It didn't say anything beyond what he'd told Henry and Dave, but he felt the childish desire to keep a part of his friendship with Percy private, as though he could draw a barrier between his friends and keep a part a Percy only for himself.

Which, he acknowledged, was petty and childish and somewhat inexplicable, but he wanted it regardless. And, as usual, went with his instincts first before questioning them.

Dave had been quiet for a few minutes but now he asked, "What did you say to him? Did you remember to--"

"None. Of. Your. Business." Oliver answered pointedly, only half-jokingly. Inside he felt a momentary triumph, and he tried to suppress a smirk as he turned and quickly walked down the hallway. In an overly casual voice, he said:

"Henry, would you and Dave mind going to Percy's place and having his things sent directly here? I know Percy would rather everything was supervised by, you know, _friends_. Take special care with Monty. Percy and I shall be back after one. Until then, watch where you Apparate when you arrive at his place!"

He quickly entered his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and then leaned against it.

"Felt good."

_12:46pm, Puddlemere School for Witchcraft and Wizardry  
The Main Hall_

To his friends' credit, Oliver silently admitted, he wasn't expecting the barrage of media coverage that followed his luncheon with Percy. Sure, he'd been informed that the news hit the media almost immediately, and they'd done just as he suspected by relentlessly pursuing Percy's identity. Why, the phone calls from both their families the day before proved as such!

And yet, as Oliver had attempted to take a quick shower to some music, he wasn't prepared to hear a rundown of his Quidditch career on every muggle-wizard radio network. Nor was he prepared to see a manipulated photograph of him and Percy on the cover of the Daily Prophet (_quite unflattering,_ he believed) shoved underneath his doorway. As he had waited for a piece of bread to toast, he flipped through the muggle television stations only to see that every wizard-oriented network was broadcasting some sort of talk show or fan interviews of Percy. Flashes of high school photographs would dance across the screen, all with poorly lit backgrounds (and bad haircuts!). Some of his old classmates (_ex-friends_) gave 'revealing' interviews of how they roomed together ALONE! for seven years.

To his horror, Percy's image was even displayed across the bottom of the CQN network screen with the headline: _Breaking News._

Fans had begun to gather outside of his apartment building and, by the time he was ready to face the day (_not soon enough!_), they had begun a steady chant of "OL N PER-CY, OL N PER-CY."

And so it was with great relief that Oliver Apparated into Puddlemere School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, directly into the main corridor just outside of what was apparently the Great Hall.

"This place has nothing on Hogwarts security," he muttered, thankfully. One school pretty much looked like any other, and he turned towards the ascending staircase, confident that he'd find Percy quickly, when--

He felt a large hand on the small of his back. He turned around slowly (_or am I being turned?_), realizing that his easy entrance had been quickly discovered.

It occurred to him that one never loses the feeling of foreboding when they're in trouble in school.

But – there was no one in sight!

"Down here! Now, who the hell are you? No, don't answer! Follow me to the headmaster!"

Oliver stared. Standing at about three-feet tall, a man resembling his old Professor Flitwick gave him a stern look and jerked his finger around in no particular direction. He had long white hair and a beard, and wore crumpled clothing that was obviously too big on him.

"Er—I didn't mean to arrive like this," Oliver said meekly, trying to stand his ground. After all, he was a grown-up! _Not that I feel like one…_ He pushed on bravely, ignoring the small man's critical stare. "I was just looking for one of your professors. Percy- er, Professor Weasley?"

The man snorted, his hands on his hips. "You and everyone else! The headmaster will deal with you!"

"No!" Oliver said, louder than he intended. He gave the small man a smile. "I'm his friend. Well, really more than that. I suppose. Er- Oliver. Oliver Wood. I just came to take him home."

The small man ran his gaze up and down Oliver's body, then reached into his pocket and took out a pair of folded glasses. He put them on his face, his eyes enlarging into the large, unnatural shape of pop-bottle bottoms.

"Holy brooms! You're-You're Oliver Wood!" The man started to rock on his feet excitedly, rubbing his hands together. "Oliver Wood, Oliver Wood! I can't believe it , I just can't believe it! To think that our dear Perce has gone all this time without mentioning that you and he were together. He's quite the little secret keeper, bless his soul! Why, I only had him over to my place for tea last week while we discussed the-- Oh, I'm Professor Flitwick, by the way. Professor _Glen_ Flitwick. I daresay my brother at Hogwarts probably taught you! And –er, you've probably heard of me? Professor Weasley has mentioned me, yes?"

The professor's reaction was one that would normally make Oliver terribly uncomfortable; however, he was overcome with relief at not being sent to the headmaster's office _after_ his school years, and he played along with Flitwick jovially. "Of course Percy's mentioned you! Why, it is _my pleasure_ to finally meet you, sir."

"Glen. Call me Glen." The professor blushed, then gestured for Oliver to follow him. "Come with me, I'll take you to his class. He's probably just finishing up. Oh, I could just kick myself for not realizing you two were together. I mean, he talks about you often enough! I should recognize true love when I see it. But you understand, it's the mark of a skeptical generation. We tend to ignore…"

_Did he just say…_ "Percy talks about me?" he couldn't stop himself from interrupting. Nor could he stop a large smile from spreading over his face, and he felt his ears warm. "Percy talks about me to you?"

"To everyone!" Flitwick said over his shoulder, motioning for him to keep up. "Quidditch is his _thing_."

"Thing?" Oliver tried to keep up with the scampering man ahead of him.

"You know, his thing. His hobby. Oh dear, how shall I explain? Professor Livingston may teach Ancient Runes but all she talks about is food. The meals she's eaten in different areas, what she's rated them. The students tell me the entire exam is about recipes. Professor Johnston teaches divination but all she talks of is the latest gossip in the papers. She's off her rocker, bless her. Incidentally your Percy has been trying to shake her all day! Let's see, where was I?" He paused. "Professor Smitty only talks about his children. All the time! And the poor man, hasn't seen hide-nor-hair of them in years but still, he talks and talks and talks. And you can't go anywhere with Professor Davies without hearing about his latest conquest. I just wish he'd be a little more discrete, is all." The professor muttered the last line under his breath, taking a sharp corner and stopping before a large door.

Oliver almost ran into him, stopping just in time. "And Percy talks about Quidditch all the time?"

"No, not all the time," Flitwick snorted, throwing Oliver a look over his shoulder. "And not all Quidditch. No, on second thought I would place him more in the literature category when he's around the other professors. He loves his books, that one, as do I. But he's young, and he identifies with the students well, so often they'll discuss Quidditch. He's a huge fan, so naturally we all think of it as--"

"His thing," Oliver finished. He scratched the back of his neck. He wasn't quite understanding this _thing_ business but it wasn't too much of a surprise to hear that Percy enjoyed discussing Quidditch with his students. After all, they'd spent many a night discussing Quidditch in a darkened dorm room. It had been one of the many benefits to having the dorm room to themselves, and they'd taken advantage of their isolation since their first year together.

"You want me to tell him you're here?" Flitwick asked, hopefully. His hands were pressed together as he stared up at Oliver in open adoration.

"Thanks but I think I can handle it," Oliver smiled at him, holding out his hand. Disappointment was evident on the man's face but he gratefully took Oliver's hand, squeezing it tightly before trotting off.

Oliver paused just outside of the two large doors for a moment before pushing them open gently, ignoring the pounding in his heart. _After all, it's only Percy's class. My boyfriend Percy. Get use to it, Wood._

He'd been expecting a classroom but instead he'd been led to the school's auditorium, with about five hundred chairs spread out before a large stage. The ceiling appeared to tower just as high as a Quidditch stadium, with a dramatic red curtain framing the stage area. Like the rest of the school, the theatre looked muggle-built and modern, complete with the latest gadgets and technologies that Oliver could see on first glance. The chairs themselves numbered into the late-hundreds, he guessed, all of them pillowed with bright purple fabrics.

On the stage itself, about three-dozen students were sitting in various positions, the most popular being on their bellies on the floor. They all wore robes that were either opened or semi-buttoned, though they all appeared engrossed in what their professor was saying.

And it was _that_ professor that Oliver couldn't seem to take his eyes off. Pacing around the students (_and over them,_ he noticed), Percy held a tattered copy of a very large book very close to his face. He was reading aloud a scene that Oliver couldn't place, his voice growing deep and strong with every word of what sounded like a sad soliloquy. He wore no robe, only muggle trousers and a sky-blue sweater, and his hair was just as curly and wild as it had been the day before.

It looked, Oliver thought suddenly, like he was truly where he belonged.

So startled by such a revelation, he coughed a few times. It wasn't that Oliver was jealous of Percy's position; on the contrary, he was elated that his friend could find such security after having been through his personal trauma with his family and his work. _But to have this security at 23…_ That factor alone was something that caused Oliver to back up a few feet, to entertain the notion that: it's not too late to back out (even when he knew that they had to carry forward in their charades). To ask him to disrupt his life and become a part of some Quidditch farce seemed lower than anything else Dave had dragged him into before.

Because – really – who was Oliver to take this away from Percy? Who was he to--

"Oliver? Are you all right?"

Oliver blinked.

Percy had stopped reading and walking, now looking up from his opened book. Even from such a distance, Oliver could tell his gaze held a puzzled, concerned look for him and, as he tried to find the words that wouldn't fit around his too-big tongue just now, he stomach was jolted once more with the realization that:

_We're not alone!_

Nervously, he took the stage in one encompassing look without moving his head. The students all stared at him from their positions on the floor, wide-eyed and mouths open, and it occurred to Oliver that under other circumstances, he would have found this to be hilarious. Right about now, however, he was ready to run for the nearest bathroom and lose what little breakfast he'd eaten.

"Oliver? Are you all right?" Percy repeated, walking slowly to the edge of the stage.

"Fine," he blurted out, too loudly. He repeated (normally), "Fine," for good measure before giving a reassuringly smile and head bob to the students. "I'll just wait here, if that's all right."

He took the edge seat in a middle row, his large frame only just fitting in the seat. He relaxed his head against the cushion before looking at the stage again, and--

_What are they looking at!_

"Er—Right," Percy hesitated, looking at his students as they stared at Oliver. "It's almost time for us to call it a day. I've placed all your graded assignments on the table here, you can pick them up on your way out. As always, you can reach me at my office." He walked over a few students to a table placed in the middle of the stage, straightening a stack of papers and setting them down with finality. He then placed his Shakespeare into a briefcase, adding, "I was quite pleased with your work this time around. I hope to see your efforts repeated for the Hamlet short essay next week. Before we leave, are there any questions about today's lessons?"

_Wrong thing to ask,_ Oliver knew immediately.

Out of the stunned lot, one small boy stood up, pointing an accusing finger at Oliver. "So, it's true? You two really are together! I don't believe it!"

A group of girls in a far away corner snickered together, setting off a chorus of other questions:

"Him? And the professor! Gosh, it's true!"

"Wood! What did you think about the game last week?"

"What do you really think about Puddlemere's chances next week?"

"Professor, we all just thought you were making up those stories about your Hogwarts days!"

Percy cleared his throat, and Oliver could see that he was trying to control a smile. "Class! Does anyone have any specific questions about today's lesson? No?"

Silence.

The small boy spoke up again. "Sir? Were you grading the assignments with Wood in the same room?"

Percy smirked at him. "Nice try, Mr. Abrams. Dismissed! See you all here Friday. And don't forget to pick up your assignments!"

Briefcase in hand, Percy jaunted down the center stairs of the stage, taking a robe from a front row seat and continuing on his way without looking back. Oliver had already stood and, with another quick nod to the students – mouths opened- he fell into step with Percy as he walked by. The strong smell of coffee came at him.

Together, the young men left the auditorium in silence, walking down corridors at a pace that envied Oliver's hurried walk with Flitwick.

Though Percy hadn't met his eye, Oliver had already noticed how tired and worn he appeared as they exited the theatre, walking with slouched shoulders and a dragging step. His pallor was unnaturally pale, and his normally bright blue eyes appeared dull, surrounded by puffiness and dark circles that made them look small and unfocused. His forehead was creased in deep thought. _If Percy hadn't been grading papers last night, what had he been doing anyways?_

Percy didn't acknowledge his presence until they had arrived in a darkened closet. He left the door ajar and waved behind him, indicating that Oliver should follow and shut it. He soon realized he'd been led to an office - Percy's office, to be exact. For who else could have kept such a small space as meticulous and precise, with muggle filing cabinets taking up most of the room. An empty desk and little chair signaled that it was rarely used outside of necessity, and there was no window.

Oliver let out a heavy breath. As Percy busied himself at a filing cabinet, he cleared his throat and said bluntly, "You don't look so good."

_Oliver Wood, always the sweet talker._

Percy looked up at him briefly. "Up all night. My mother gave the press my phone number and address by accident, and I had to keep resetting the security charm to redirect them elsewhere. Lord, but they're clever at getting through those things! How are you handling it?"

"Oh--" Oliver started, thinking back to his twelve-hour sleep. Finally he admitted guiltily, "I slept well, actually. My apartment has a great security system. And I've been avoiding the media for the most part. Though I noticed a crowd of fans gathered on the front stairs before I left."

"I'm surprised to see you here." Percy's head was now almost fully engrossed into a filing cabinet drawer.

"Sorry," Oliver started to apologize but stopped when Percy's head came bobbing back up from the drawer, looking at him quizzically.

"No need to be sorry," he said after a moment, in that practical way of his that seemed so familiar to Oliver. "Just a surprise, is all. Now there won't be any doubt about us."

"Was there any doubt earlier?"

Percy gave him a wry smile, shaking his curls, before diverting his attention back to his files. "No."

"Good." Oliver smiled back, folding his hands behind his back. He was feeling increasingly comfortable around Percy. "Hope you don't mind but I sent Dave and Henry to collect your things."

"Hmm?" Percy looked up, waving a hand. "Sure. They're all packed up, in the middle of the living room. There's only a few things, anyhow. Do you think they'll remember--"

"The dog?" Oliver interrupted, exchanging a smile with him. "Yes, I gave specific instructions."

"Thanks." Percy looked up from the drawer, giving him a grin that traveled into his eyes, his lightened feelings (and his sweater, Oliver noticed) bringing out the ice-blue shades. "Actually, I'm glad you came by the school. There are some things I'd like to go over with you."

Oliver's stomach dropped again. "So you mentioned. That's actually part of the reason why I came here to get you. Is it something…" He let his words hang. He didn't want to finish with "… to do with me?" especially when it probably did concern him.

"Nothing really important," he said, closing the filing cabinet drawer and opening another. "Little things. Mostly household, really. Did you want me to get the groceries? What's your doorman's name? Is he good with animals? Where can my family and colleagues get a hold of me? And how much is rent?"

_That's… surprisingly easy._ Oliver smiled gently, moving to lean against the door to achieve an appearance of 'casual'. He tried to form his words carefully. "The doorman's name is Jim, and he's great with animals. Has some himself, or so Henry tells me. Other than the basics, I usually eat out but you're welcome to get groceries if you'd like. My fridge was full this morning, the guys must have ordered some in yesterday while I was at your place." _And probably charged it to me, those moochers,_ Oliver realized with tinge of annoyance. "I'll have the securities readjusted to allow your mail to be forwarded to the flat. And as for rent…"

"I don't mind paying!" Percy interrupted sharply, his face still hidden in the drawer.

"I know," Oliver jumped back, a little surprised at Percy's touchiness on the subject. Money had always been a tough issue with the Weasleys' but he certainly wasn't going to say that his monthly rent was probably more than what Percy made teaching all year! Besides of which: "My contract with Puddlemere states the team pays for the flat. It's nothing either of us have to worry about."

Percy let out a deep breath and, glancing up to give a quick nod to Oliver, busied himself back in the cabinet drawer. "All right. That sounds good."

"That's it?" Oliver asked, surprised.

"Not quite. There's something else I want to go over with the three of you together."

"Oh." Oliver shifted his feet and tried to ignore the disappointment he felt at being lumped together as 'the three of you'.

"All done here. Sorry about the wait, Ol. I'm just a few paces behind myself today. The students I can intimidate into silence but my colleagues…" Percy closed the filing cabinet drawer, locking the muggle lock with his wand. In a swift movement, he wrapped the robe around his body and gathered his papers under his arm. He held out his free hand, expectantly.

And after a moment, asked: "Well?"

"Right! Lost in my own little world here, Perce," Oliver tried to force the flush away from his cheeks, taking Percy's hand into his own. "You know, you're a great teacher. I mean, I wasn't here for long but the way you were with those students, I… Er, well, I can see why you love your work."

"Thanks," Percy gave him a genuine smile, and Oliver was pleased to see the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. For far too long, it seemed the scales had reversed, leaving Oliver with the permanently reddened cheeks. "Now it's my turn to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

"Why are we still here?" Percy asked quietly, jokingly, emphasizing his point by swinging their joined hands together.

Oliver gave him a sheepish look as they Apparated to his flat. _I just can't seem to catch the upper hand lately._

_-- _

_1:56 pm, the living room  
Flat 3-B, Puddlemere Estates_

When Percy and Oliver materialized in the living room area of his flat, hand-in-hand, Dave and Henry were already sitting on the couch together amidst a dozen large boxes, evidently waiting for their arrival.

"See Hen?" Dave said without acknowledging their presence. "I told you they'd be here soon."

Oliver suddenly became aware that he was still holding Percy's hand, and he dropped it quickly, stepping away from him. "There's no real chance of me getting lost with you two around, is there? I suppose you've gotten everything?"

"Yes, we certainly did! And a little thank you wouldn't hurt, Ol," Henry gently teased from his position on the couch. He shifted in his seat and nodded at Percy. "How's the goin' today?"

"A good day," Percy gave him a smile and nod, extending his hand out. "Thanks for getting all this stuff here. I don't suppose you've remembered that--"

As though to answer the unfinished question, a large beast came barreling down the corridor, jumping onto Percy and knocking him down before he could shake Henry's hand. Oliver took a step forward as though to remove the dog when Percy began to laugh and rub the dog's ears affectionately, use to such behavior. Slowly, he crawled out from underneath him.

"Never mind," Percy said, giving Henry a grin.

"He's a great animal, Perce. Hey, you know what? Why don't Dave and I take off for a few hours? You probably want to get settled."

Oliver gritted his teeth, muttering sarcastically, "You don't say…"

"You'll have to excuse him today, Perce. Slept in a bit this morning, he did. Took a bit of a run in the kitchen as well." Dave winked at Oliver before rising from his seat and walking into the kitchen.

"Indeed?" Percy asked with the hint of a grin playing at his lips, looking at Oliver expectantly until he seemed to remember: "Er- Dave? I don't suppose you could bring Monty out a bowl of water or something?"

Though grumbling could be heard from the kitchen, the sound of running water and dishes clattering soon followed. Dave appeared with the bowl of water, setting it down against a back wall away from Monty, all the while eying him carefully.

"So, you want to talk now, Perce?" Henry asked, though he watched Dave's measured movements with interest as the blond man tried to move slowly back towards his place on the couch.

"Henry and I were thinking about some possible stories that--"

"No," Oliver said abruptly, cutting Dave off. He sat down in the chair facing the couch, giving his teammates a serious look. "Percy talks first. Then you two can say whatever you're going to say afterwards."

"I'd appreciate that," Percy said in a brisk manner, leading Monty towards the water dish. The dog now lapping water (with Dave watching in half-amazement and half-terror), Percy stood in front of the couch, wiping his hands on his pants before he adjusted his glasses and straightened his posture, looking back and forth from Henry to Dave. After a moment's silence, he folded his arms. "I'm certain I can speak for Oliver when I say that we're looking forward to any suggestions you two have for the coming days."

His condescending tone left no doubt as to his actual enthusiasm at hearing their ideas.

Looking at each man in the eye, he clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace before them. The gesture was authoritative and imposing, not unlike the teacher's stance that Oliver had seen one hour earlier. "But there are some issues I want to go over. The first being how this situation shall proceed."

"We've ideas!" A brave Dave insisted.

"I'm sure you do. But I've had all last night and this morning to consider the situation, and I've come up with my own theories. And what I've come up with is that you three have all been hit by one too many Bludgers. Or perhaps your mothers collectively dropped you all on your heads at some important developmental stage in your childhood. Whatever it is, whatever stupidity you've all employed to get into this situation, you surrendered it the moment I agreed to participate in your little drama."

Oliver settled back in his chair and tried to suppress a smile, not caring that Percy was including him in his rant. Instead he was more interested in watching his teammates, determined to enjoy their every reaction to Percy's tirade. And what a reaction he was getting – Henry had apparently entered shock, immediately blanching at the all-superior tone that had quieted the room. He sat up straight and, Oliver was certain, hadn't breathed in the past two minutes. On the other end of the couch, Dave watched Percy through one hand that covered his face, as though he were a small child that had begged to watch a horror movie and now regretted ever suggesting it.

For his part, Monty had jumped onto the couch and settled down between the two 'victims' for a nap.

Percy continued: "Separately, you're all very fine young men." (Oliver choked upon hearing this). "When you're together though, something's just not right. Like you've all been sniffing old broom polish or something. And so, as much as I do appreciate your input, I think it best for everyone if we slow down, take stock of what's occurred and then create a plan based on as good a sound reasoning as we're going to get after these past few days of your meddling. Questions?"

Percy now paused in his pacing, looking at each man in turn, and meeting his gaze with an unwavering stare. After a few moments Henry hesitantly raised his hand.

"Oak?" Percy was Seriousness Itself.

Henry was looking uncommonly pale. "Perce, I'll have you know I was dragged into this farce innocently. And I believe that my aid to Oliver has more than--"

"Oh, Henry. And here I thought you might have been one of the sane ones," Percy interrupted with a heavy sigh, placing a hand on Henry's shoulder in a dramatic gesture. Oliver tried to muffle a laugh. Percy always was good at deadpan humor, the only problem being that he was _too_ good, and one could never quite tell where the humor began and the seriousness ended.

"Oh, I am," Henry piqued up. "It's just… They have this knack for creating trouble out of practically nothing."

Oliver opened his mouth to remind Henry about his participation in the Candy Cane interview when Percy said quickly, "No excuses, Oak. It's all or nothing. Anything else?"

Dave and Oliver shook their heads in unison, exchanging a knowing smile when Percy had turned back to Henry.

"Good. Now what was it you wanted to speak about earlier?"

Henry swallowed, wiping his sweaty brow as he answered promptly, "Er-nothing. Just some stories. Get our facts straight, you know. But that can wait until later on. And really, I'm much more interested in what you think--"

Percy nodded curtly, cutting him off. "Good. Er-Ol? I don't suppose you would mind me using your kitchen? I've got to feed Monty."

"Again!" Dave exclaimed incredulously, the tension in the living room giving way to normalcy.

Henry breathed out, sitting back in his chair, the color returning to his face. He turned his head to the side to look at Dave, whispering, "See, this is why you can never have children. _Regular_ feedings, Sharp."

Oliver waved his arm towards the kitchen. "Consider this your home, Perce." He turned to his friends as he rose from his chair, smirking at them. "I'm going to help Percy settle in. Isn't there someplace else you two have to be?"

"See you later, Ol. Good luck," Dave said quietly, mischievously, as he helped a still-stunned Henry off the couch.

Oliver leaned against the main window, watching them leave. A wave of relief came over him, and he realized that he felt better now than he had even twenty-four hours before, even when Percy had agreed to play this role. He knew that Percy's show (_and what a show it was!_) was necessary to put his teammates in their place, but he also knew that his bark was much worse than his bite, and that they'd have to have a long discussion later on with (a more cautious) Dave and Henry.

Oliver leaned to his side, only able to see the corner of the kitchen from where he was standing. Percy was on the floor, spooning dog food out of a can and into a dish, and magically heating it with his wand. He seemed comfortable with the apartment, Oliver noticed, and he himself didn't mind the extra guest – rather, _guests._ Right now he was a little perturbed that Percy seemed to be having a full conversation with the dog on the floor but he wasn't about to question his new roommate's quirks.

_What more could I ask for? Er… Other than this situation to have never occurred?_

Still leaning sideways and watching Percy speak to Monty, Oliver fought the disconcerting thought that came to him…

_If this situation had never occurred, I never would have Percy back in my life._

_- - To Be Continued _


End file.
